Cold Blood (3 page)

“Never stopped you before,”

snapped back Rosie.

Lorraine’s eyes were like cold chips of ice.

“What’s that supposed to mean? What are you suggesting, Rosie? Come on, spit it out, are you saying I go out and screw a few guys to keep this place open? That what you think I should do?”

Rosie blushed and turned away. She loathed Lorraine when she was like this, she could get so cold, so unapproachable, so downright nasty. But unlike the times they’d bickered about the agency before, there wasn’t another sarcastic retort forthcoming, just an ominous silence.

Lorraine was staring at herself in the small mirror glued to the back of the door. Her hair needed a cut and new highlights. She leaned closer, frowning, as she checked the scar running from her left eye down to the middle of her cheekbone; that needed to be fixed but plastic surgery cost. She stepped back, giving herself a critical appraisal. Considering the punishment her body and insides had taken from all the abuse, her skin looked remarkably clear, but there were fine lines at the sides of her eyes and they were getting deeper. Either way, she didn’t like what she saw, and kicked the door closed.

Lorraine picked up her gym bag and flicked off the main overhead light switch. Her shadow etched across the main office wall as she reached for her purse. Caught in the half-light from the lit-up screen on Rosie’s word processor, Lorraine’s chiseled features never ceased to make Rosie’s heart lurch. She obviously didn’t see herself as Rosie did, because she was still a very attractive woman. Perhaps not as stunning as Rosie thought, but for her age, and considering what she had been through, Lorraine Page was still a looker. The stronger she became physically over the past twentyone months, the more her natural beauty shone through. Lorraine’s strict diet, her almost obsessive workouts at the gym, had proved that a woman who lost six years drinking herself into oblivion, who had become a hopeless, scrawny, sickly alcoholic when she and the overweight Rosie had first met, could now pass for an athlete. The only thing ex-lieutenant Lorraine Page could not recapture was her career, and her husband and two daughters. She never spoke of them, either to Rosie or at AA meetings, whereas Rosie spilled many tears about wanting to be reunited with her son.

Rosie now let out a long deep sigh; maybe, as she herself had half suggested, the failure of their business would send Lorraine back to the bottle, back to a life in the gutter. Rosie was therefore totally unprepared for what Lorraine had to say as she hovered by the main office door, about to leave.

Lorraine swung the door slightly with her foot.

“I meant to tell you, the department store offered me a full-time job as their store detective. Remember the job I took over for two weeks? Well, apparently she had one hell of a holiday and came back pregnant.”

“What?”

“So, we close up at the end of the week and at least I’ll have enough for the rent on apartment.”

“What aboljt Page Investigations?”

Rosie asked as the tears started.

“Like I said, it’s overend of the week we close up shop.”

“What about me?”

Lorraine, still tap-tapping the door with the toe of her shoe, wouldn’t look at her friend.

“Well, I guess you got to go out into the big world, Rosie, and get a job. Shouldn’t be too tough, you can use a word processor and”

Rosie turned away, her eyes brimming, and Lorraine felt awful. She went over and slipped her arm around her friend’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry, sometimes I say things and they come out all the wrong way. What I am trying to say isyou got a life, Rosie, and maybe I have too, not just doing what we’re doing, okay?”

Rosie nodded and felt in her pocket for a tissue. Lorraine hesitated, knowing that to stay with Rosie would only involve going over old ground, but was saved by the ringing of the phone. Rosie snatched up the receiver, hoping against all hope that the call would mean a job, but didn’t even get to say

“Page Investigations.”

It didn’t matter anywayit was only her sponsor, Jake, wondering if she’d be at AA that evening. By the time Rosie had replied that she would, Lorraine had gone.

“You okay, Rosie?”

Jake’s friendly rasping voice inquired.

“Nope, we’re shutting up shop. Can I see you tonight before the meeting?”

-

Jake agreed and Rosie replaced the phonBfeeling the tears welling up again. Was it ever going to end? Did she have a life of her own, as Lorraine had said? Hell, without Lorraine, Rosie knew she was hopelesssure, she could use a word processor, but she didn’t have enough confidence to go out alone into the big wide world. That was the difference between them Rosie needed Lorraine, and without her the world scared the shit out of her. Or maybe it wasn’t the world, just her own weakness and low self-esteem. Just seeing the empty cupcake carton made her want to weepshe couldn’t even stick to a diet! How could she cope without Lorraine? By having a drink, that would be how, and that realization made her want to weep even more. She badly needed to go to that meeting.

Lorraine went to her weight-lifting class. She pushed herself to breaking point, wanting to exhaust herself so she’d crash out and sleep when she got home. She blanked out Rosie’s doleful face. In truth, she was just as sad at the failure of the business, but unlike Rosie she knew she could not let it swamp her. If she had to move on, then she would do what had to be done. She knew she could not take responsibility for Rosie, it was tough enough taking it for herself, and if she was to survive she had to put herself first, otherwise she’d go down. She had not been kidding when she had said she wanted a drink. She did. But she was not going to take one, well, not tonight. She knew by now that it never ended, the

“thirst”

was never over. It was, and would continue to be, a constant battle for the rest of her life. Part of her wanted to fight it, but sometimes, just sometimes, it seemed so pointless.

Rosie was in floods of tears, sitting beside her dear friend Jake Valsack, who was patting her hand.

“Well, maybe she’s right, Rosie. If it’s not working out on any front, more specifically financially, why flog a dead horse?”

Rosie blew her nose.

“She just came out with it, like she must have known awhile back about this offer of a job. You see, she’s pregnant.”

“What, Lorraine?”

“No! The goddamned store detective, the bitch!”

Jake raised his thick, matted eyebrows. He was having a tough time following what Rosie was going on about, but surmised that Lorraine had a job and Rosie didn’t, and their socalled investigation business was kaput.

“I mean, how could she do it, Jake? I decorated and painted the place, we got all that office furniture…. I know it’s not much, but we got phone extensions put in, I got a word processor to pay off, a fax machine and a … It was me that got the desks, you know, and the furniture. It took us months to set up, how could she do this to me?”

“She did it, Rosie, because you had no work coming in, right? Am I right?”

“That is not the point,”

she said stubbornly.

Jake sneaked a look at his watch; the meeting was about to start. Rosie could carry on like this for a long time, as he knew from past experience, and no matter what he said she paid no attention; she just went round and round in circles.

“What about that ex-captain, Rooney? I thought you said he was gonna drum up work?”

Rosie blew her nose.

“Oh, him! He’s boozed out, his wife’s just died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t know him, but how is he coping?”

Jake asked, trying to change the subject.

Rosie continued as if there had been no interruption.

“I mean, if you

Hon’t stay with something, you know, really see it through… . We got the office furniture and I schlepped all over yard sales for that.”

Jake grippejrher hand tighter.

“Rosie, sweetheart, maybe Lorraine did just that, saw it through and came to the conclusion it wasn’t gonna work. It hasn’t worked.”

“She never gave it a chance,”

Rosie snapped back.

Jake sighed in frustration. He was chairing this evening and he could see that the crowd of people arriving for the meeting was thinning out as they entered the hall.

“Rosie, I got to go in now. Maybe talk this through afterwards?”

“I need to talk it through now, Jake.”

He was trying to hold on to his temper.

“Rosie, I have been talking it through with you for over an hour, but you won’t face facts.”

“Facts are, Jake, she just dumped me. We might have gotten overflow work from the other agencies.”

“No, honey, facts are Lorraine’s talking sense. I mean, you think about this, you know her history, she was a drunk cop on duty, she got kicked out of her station, she shot a young kid, for Chrissakes. You ever think that maybe, just maybe, none of the other agencies can take the risk of an exjunkie, ex-alcoholic orderin’ their toilet paper, never mind taking on any overflow of cases? They know about her, so even if it’s tracin’ stolen vehicles”

“But we did a trace, we got three.”

Jake rumpled his thinning hair; she was refusing to listen to him.

“I got to go in, Rosie, like now, so come on, wipe \^jr nose and let’s go in. You need a bit of stabilizing.”

jf

“I need a drink, Jake.”

He closed his eyes. It was going to be a long, long night.

They were just about to go back to square one when there was a tap on the window of his beat-up Pontiac.

“Jake, it’s me, only I’ve welcomed everyone because I don’t think we’re going to get any more here tonight. Coffee is served and everyone’s waiting for you to take the chair.”

The thin-faced middle-aged woman in a rather expensive tailored suit stepped back from the car. Phyllis Collins didn’t even glance at Rosie, who was blowing her nose loudly.

“Okay, Phyllis, I’m comin’ now.”

Jake stepped from the car and bent down to Rosie.

“Let’s go, Rosie.”

“No, I’m not coming in.”

Jake gestured to Phyllis.

“Do me a favor, Phyllis, she needs a bit of encouragement tonight. You’ve met, haven’t you?”

Phyllis nodded and peered toward the passenger seat.

“Good evening.”

Rosie didn’t even acknowledge her as she delved into her bulging purse for a clean tissue. Jake raised his eyes to heaven and Phyllis gave him a reassuring smile.

“You go in, I’ll stay with her. Go on, you can’t keep everyone waiting.”

Phyllis bent down to the car.

“We’ve met a few times. I’m Phyllis Collins.”

Rosie glared. She had no recollection of ever meeting the woman before and she had no intention of getting out of the car.

“Jake can’t not go in, he’s chairing tonight. You mind if I sit with you?”

Rosie shrugged, looking away, but she didn’t stop Phyllis from getting into the car. If nothing else, she was someone she could repeat the entire scenario to; she’d have spilled it all out to anyone, she was feeling so wretched.

“My partner just dumped me.”

“Oh, I am sorry, were you married long?”

“My business partner. I’ve worked my butt off and tonight she just told me she had another job, just like that.”

Phyllis nodded, her thin, plain face concerned.

“Oh dear, no wonder you’re not feeling good.”

Lorraine eased the wet iced cloth further over her sweating face. The heat in the sauna was so intense she could take only another few minutes. She was lying naked on the highest bench, two other women were flat out on the benches beneath her. No one spoke.

Lorraine was wondering if Rosie was okay, but she figured if Jake was with her she wouldn’t do anything stupid. She decided to clear out the change in her purse and get a bottle of alcohol-free cider to cheer her up. It looked like champagne and tasted like gnat’s piss, but Rosie loved it.

“Excuse me,”

Lorraine murmured as she swung her legs down to the lower bench and then eased her body past one of the prone women, who leaned up on her elbow to allow Lorraine to pass. She remained half upright, staring at the tall woman as she left the sauna. She envied the beautiful, straight, muscular body and then became curious when she saw the patched scars across Lorraine’s arms, the small jagged razor lines and round burn marks.

The same woman caught sight of Lorraine again in the changing room. Using a brush, she was blow-drying her fine silky blond hair rather expertly.

“I wish I could do that.”

Lorraine turned, slightly puzzled, wondering if the woman was talking to her.

“Save a fortune at the hairdresser’s. I can never do the back of my head.”

Lorraine switched off the hair dryer.

“Oh, it just takes practice,”

she said politely, and concentrated on finishing her hair. When she walked out from the cj^nging cubicle the nosy woman was talking confidentially to someone else, both their overweight bodies cushioned together in their white club-issue towels.

“She used to be a police lieutenant, drunk on duty, that was what I was told. She knows the gym instructor and he told me that”

Lorraine let her cubicle door bang hard and they whipped around like startled hamsters. She would have liked to tell them where she would like to ram the hair dryer but she didn’t. She said nothing. And all the tension her exercise and sauna had relaxed from her body was back. By the time she passed through reception she was wired and angry.

Arthur, the gym instructor, gave her a friendly grin and called out,

“Good night.”

Lorraine kept on walking.

Some friend he’d turned out to be. She decided she would not come back. She just knew she had better head directly for home instead of getting Rosie’s cider because that feeling of wanting a real drink was getting out of her control.

Three bottles of Evian water downed between them Phyllis and Rosie were sitting in a small cafe. Only it wasn’t Rosie spilling out her tales of woe, it was Phyllis, and she had Rosie’s rapt attention.

“I suppose in some ways I stayed on becafce it was all so dreadful and I keep on saying to myself, When it’s all ov^P, I’ll leave. But it’s not over, maybe it never will be. Sometimes it gets so bad with her I just don’t think I can take any more of it. She is so demanding, expecting me to be ready to drop whatever I am doing anytime of day or night. If she wakes up at four in the morning, she can’t be bothered to use the intercom, she just screams my name. Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat because I think I’ve heard her shrieking for me, and other times, when she’s very sick because she’s taken so many pills to sleep, I just get rigid with fear and all I do is feel her pulse to see if she’s still breathing. It’s a wretched, terrible time for all concerned, a tragedy really. …”