Blue Heaven (21 page)

And as this ghastly loop repeated, Moira took a starter's pistol from her pocket and fired it. She then laughed maniacally and hung up.

"That ought to do it. But if she tries one more stunt, I swear I'm going to get nasty."

I stayed at GC that night to watch a "must see" late movie, waiting all the while for Moira to drowse off so Gilbert and I could enjoy our "absolute last time" together, for the affair was still in that stage. In the morning I nipped out before Moira rose and called Claire to give her the poop on the restaurant and poor Vulpina's plunge into the twilight zone.

"God, she has got to be stopped! I'm ashamed of myself, I really am."

"Ashamed?"

"I haven't applied myself enough. It's clear that Moira is thinking things through night and day, planning it all to the last detail. You don't beat someone who's working like that unless you work just as hard or harder. When can we all talk? The three of us?"

I suggested she meet us after work that night for a drink.

I was glad I did. Aggie spent the whole night sitting at the bar flirting as if she'd taken Leo's correspondence course. And no sooner had she left than Christopher oiled up to the bar, dropped onto a stool and began sighing so dramatically that there was no doubt but he
wished to be asked what the matter was. I made concerned inquiries and soon learned that his beau, my predecessor, Sylvester, had disappeared into the night, taking with him Christopher's reason to live, not to mention several pairs of gold cufflinks.

"Of course, at my age," he sighed, "I don't suppose I'm apt to find anyone again."

Here, I thought, was my chance to improve relations and render the workplace atmosphere a bit less cool than it had been. I assured him that a man of his suave good looks and keen intellect should have no trouble attracting dozens of would-be replacements for this cad who had so foolishly failed to see what a prize was his.

It was not long, however, before things got sticky. He contradicted all my compliments thus goading me on to still more fulsome efforts and soon he was staring at me in a way that frankly challenged me to make good on my blarney.

So it was no small relief that Claire chose this moment to saunter in.

"Baby, what a surprise!" I said, leaning over the bar for a big wet one on the lips which took her quite by surprise.

"In the neighborhood, were you, and decided to see me home? Gosh, I've been thinking about you all night, Babe! My place or yours?"

We departed, Gilbert joining us, and as we strolled up Park Avenue in the cold night air Claire outlined her new plan of attack.

"What we need if we're going to get around Moira and this Murche-son are some well-placed allies. Now, who's as eager to see Moira knocked off her perch as we are? People who've also been victimized by her?"

"You mean like Pina?"

"I was thinking of Winslow Potts."

"Winslow? But he's the one who broke the law by giving Moira the trust money. He'd rather die than spill the beans."

"No, he wouldn't rather
die.
And if we explain that that's his option I think we can induce him to cooperate."

"You mean we threaten him?"

"If you want to put it that way. I think we'd mainly be enlightening him. Do you suppose he knows the Mafia is involved? I doubt it. Moira hasn't admitted that to you two. Why would she tell him when it would only scare him to death? From what I've heard he sounds
like a timid man who made a greedy decision he'd do anything to reverse. When we let him know he can't, but he has a choice of whether he takes his licks from the Duchess of Dorsetshire or Freddy the Pooch, I think the choice won't be difficult."

Gilbert said he'd try to find Winslow's phone and address in Moira's book but that she tended to keep it in her purse which was seldom out of her sight. We agreed that we could afford to wait a few days if need be. Moira's vengeance against Pina and Gunther was finished so there were no fresh horrors looming on the horizon demanding to be fended off.

Which shows you how much
we
knew.

Nineteen

"S
orry to wake you. Bad news."

"Whah? How bah?"

"Time will tell! Moira met Gunther last night."

"Hwhah?" I mumbled, dislodging horrid little things from the corner of my eye so I could read the bedside digital. It was two-twenty.

"Moira! Met Gunther! At the movies. She was having a girl's night out with Babs Destefano."

"Babs?"

"Lunch's daughter. Moira's working her way through the family. We've got Chick's son Ugo and his hairy wife coming to brunch this Sunday. Anyway, they're in the lobby and there's Gunther and some friend of his and he smiles at Moy and says how is
she
tonight? And she says, 'I don't think we have anything to say to each other Mr. Von Steigle.' So he just sneers and says, 'Give my regards to your faggot fiance.'
Right in front of Babs!

"Oh no! What did Moira tell Babs?"

"Oh, she said Gunther was this guy who'd tried to get into my pants only he couldn't, of course, so he hates my guts. Babs bought it but,
Jesus,
honey, Moira was fuming! Don't you see? She thinks Gunther knows
we
sent the doll and he said it just to prove he's not scared of us one bit. As far as she was concerned, it was a fucking declaration of war!"

At ten a.m. the phone woke me from a night of Technicolor sequels to "Little Caesar." It was Holly Batterman.

"This must be juicy if you can't wait till after lunch."

"It is, honey. Vulpina's cracking up!"

"Cracking up?"

"Completely! She's running around telling people that some horrible maniac is out to get her!"

"Oh?" I asked lightly.

"Yes! She says she gets phone calls where she hears her
own voice
begging for mercy!"

"Golly!"

"She even went to the police!"

"How 'bout that! Uh, what'd they say?"

"Well, I don't think they took her very seriously. The silly bitch went to the station wearing the same dress she wore to my Christmas party."

"Oh no-!"

"Exactly. In walks Batwoman at ten in the morning! They just about told her to go back to her home planet and leave 'em alone. So, whaddaya think?
I
say she's making the whole thing up for attention!"

"Me, too!"

"Really?"

"Absolutely! Did I tell you I once went to one of her fashion shows with a friend, a psychiatrist, and he could tell from her designs alone that Pina was
delusional.
Of course, I'm telling you this in confidence."

"Right. Gotta go!" he said and hung up.

Seconds later my phone rang again.

"Hi, Gerry, s'me! You'll never guess! Pina's gone off the deep end!"

"Holly?"

"Oh, you again? I must have pressed redial."

That night at work Gilbert glumly reported that Moira had secured the services of Jean-Louis Mallard to design for the bridal party. I'd never heard of him but Gilbert assured me he was
the
rising star of fashion and that it was quite a coup for Moira, which was why Tony and the duchess both consented to pay twenty thousand for the dresses. Tony had also forked out seven hundred dollars for invitations, plus hefty advances for the caterer and musicians. Money was already being spent and in quantity. The swindle was happening. We were doomed.

The next day Gilbert managed to obtain Winslow's phone number and address from Moira's book. He lived on West Eighty-first, only blocks from God's Country. Gilbert called to convey this, and also informed me that Moira had requested we meet her at a cafe called the Happy Grouse on Lexington Avenue. She refused to divulge the reason, saying it was a surprise and that we should sit at a table in front by the window. She had a gown fitting nearby but would meet us there at three sharp.

We reached the cafe at three on the dot and, taking our seats in the window, realized to our horror that we were directly across the street from Gunther's hairdressing salon, Capelli. The large-windowed facade afforded a good view of the inside where five women sat being attended by two besmocked women and a tall man with a red beard.

"Oh, no! Is he in there?"

"Not that I can-
shit
!
There he is!"

The unmistakable features of Gunther Von Steigle had hovered into view right behind the chair closest to the window.

At that moment a tall striking woman with a wide-brimmed black hat walked briskly through the door of the salon and straight over to Gunther. She seemed to be screaming at him. Suddenly she tore off her hat and we saw that she was entirely bald underneath. Indeed, she was not only bald but had red scars crisscrossing her scalp. Just then someone entered the cafe and while the door was open we could hear her shouting, "You did this to me! You!"

The other women in the shop were understandably perturbed. One old darling leapt from her chair and started putting her coat on. Gunther began shouting back at Baldie, trying to escort her out, and Baldie began beating him with her purse. Screaming some parting shot at him, she stormed out of the shop, hailed a cab and sped off down Lex.

Seconds later the door opened again and Gunther's horrified patrons began scampering out, even a plump woman whose hair was still covered in shampoo. She just clamped a kerchief over her head and dove into a cab.

"Do you sense the subtle hand of Moira in this?" I asked, rhetorically.

"Jesus Christ, Philly! We better go before he sees us!"

We dashed for the door and looked out to make sure the coast was
clear. It was. But no sooner had we stepped out than Gunther and the redheaded man appeared out of nowhere, desperately beseeching the last departing matron not to go.

We ducked down into our coats and began walking quickly downtown, but it was no good.

"You two!" he shouted.
"You two!"

We ran for the corner, turned west and scrambled into a cab. Turning as we sped off, we could see him standing in the street, shaking his fist in the best melodramatic fashion.

Heading west, we saw Moira rushing east toward the cafe and the front row seat she'd hoped to share with us. Gilbert leaned out the window.

"Get in! You missed it!"

Moira heaved an exasperated sigh as she entered the cab.

"Oh, pooh! How'd it go?"

We filled her in.

"Wasn't she good? She was in Marlow's
Bong!
with me years ago. She usually wears a wig but when I offered her a few hundred for two minutes of performing without it she couldn't resist. But I'm furious I missed it! I should have told her to make sure we were all there first."

"Moira-Gunther
saw
us!"

"He was supposed to! I mean, why be coy? The gloves are off! I just wish I'd seen it! Was it funny? Was it delish?"

"Hello, Gunther? This is Philip Cavanaugh."

"You! Do you realize what you have done to my business!" "Yes, actually, that's why I'm calling," I said, lowering my voice.

I was on the pay phone at Paradiso and feared being overhead. "Gilbert
and I had
nothing
to do with that."

"Of
course
! It was just a coincidence that you were watching from
across the street!"

"No, it wasn't! Someone
told
us to be there. We got an anonymous
phone call telling us where to go. So you see we're also victims of
this . . . nasty person! He wanted you to see
us
and
blame
everything on-"

"Do not waste my time with ridiculous inventions, Mr. Cavanaugh.

You thought you could enjoy my humiliation unobserved and now that
you're caught you're trying to weasel your way out with talk of conspiracies. I suppose you also had nothing to do with that demented doll I received?"

"Huh?
Doll?
You mean, like Barbie?"

Click.

"Was he mad, honey?" asked Gilbert.

"Guess. And don't call me honey!"

"I'm sorry," he said petulantly.

"Well, it gets to be a habit, Gilbert, and you don't realize you're doing it. Like that time in the cafeteria in high school. 'Do you want some Jell-0, darling?' You never know who's going to hear and- So! How's the reservation book look tonight, Gil?"

"Gil?"

"Sorry if I'm interrupting something," throbbed Christopher, draping himself over the bar. "Dewar's rocks, soda back."

"Coming up."

"Customers!" cried Gilbert, bustling off to greet an arriving deuce.

"You boys don't have to whisper around me. I can keep a secret."

"Dewar's, right? Damn, we're out. Why don't you come back for this?" I said nipping around the bar and heading for Aggie's office. "It might take me a bit to find some more."

"I'll help!" he said and followed me in, closing the door behind us.

A delivery had been made that day and the small office was crammed with boxes, rendering the Dewar's difficult to find and a certain degree of physical intimacy difficult to avoid.

"Do you still think I'm suave?" asked Christopher.

"Chris!" I laughed, trying to pretend I thought he was joking. "You flirt, you!"

"I'm incorrigible," he said, mussing my hair. "Doing anything tonight?"

"Christo-pherrr! Why are you wasting your time on me? You know I'm straight."

"And if you weren't? Would you be interested in me?"

"
If
, yes. Absolutely."

"You're not just saying that?" he asked winsomely.

"No, not at all! You're an attractive man!"

"If you ever had doubts would you tell me about them?"

"You'd be the first."

"I can keep a secret," he said, smiling.

"I'm sure you can."

"Unlike Holly Batterman," he added, the smile swinging shut like a bear trap.

"You know Holly, huh?"

"Very well. We were chatting about you just last night. He says he knows Jesuits straighter than you are."

"What a kidder!"

"You must take me for quite a fool, mustn't you? Coming on to me that way then hiding behind your chubby girlfriend."

"Christ! I wasn't coming on to you that night. I just wanted to make you feel good!"

"Oh, well, if that's what you want to do," he said and fell toward me, his hands hitting the wall on either side of my shoulders. He smiled and inclined his head toward mine, his thin lips parting as his eyes closed like a gothic covergirl's.

I shimmied down the wall, scooted around him and lunged for the door. He spun, lost his balance and fell face-first into a case of Smirnoff. I heard him squeal in pain and indignation as I nipped out the door. He emerged five minutes later wearing a Band-Aid on his temple and a look of utter loathing that made Gunther Von Steigle's worst efforts look like a chorus boy singing a title number.

On our next free Monday night, Claire, Gilbert and I met in front of Shakespeare and Co. We called Winslow Potts from a booth and Claire asked sweetly to speak to Audrey.

"Terribly sorry. My mistake," she said and hung up. "He's home."

We trudged the few blocks to his brownstone and rang the bell.

"Hello?" crackled a voice.

"UPS," said Gilbert.

He buzzed us in and we hurriedly climbed the stairs to his second-floor apartment. Claire and I stood off to one side of the door and Gilbert waited in front of it.

The door opened.

"Why, you're not UPS at all!" said Winslow, though from his tone he found Gilbert comely enough not to mind the deception by which he had gained entry.

"No, and neither are we," said Claire, appearing from the left as Gilbert neatly slipped his foot in the door.

"I'm Gilbert Selwyn."

"Moira's fiance!"

"That's the one!"

Winslow Potts seemed to have been born nervous. Even in his calmer moments he reminded me of a hummingbird awaiting biopsy results.

"I have nothing to say to you! Nothing to say to any of you!" he shrieked.

"You don't have to say anything. Just sit down and listen."

We introduced ourselves politely.

"We're not here to hurt you. Just to tell you some things you should know."

"Can I take a Valium first?" he asked, edging toward a door.

"Certainly," said Claire, "but if you're thinking of calling Moira, don't bother. She's not in and we can erase your message before she gets back."

"Who are you-Miss Marple? Why are you people bothering me? I haven't done anything to you, have I?"

"No, but we're all in a fine mess and we can't get out without some cooperation from you."

"What mess! Moira said everything's going fine!"

"She lied."