Control (41 page)

The following noon Eric stood in the solarium of Orient Castle watching the Atlantic
’
s anger build. He had just driven the three plus hours from Manhattan to the tip of Long Island. The doctors had believed his need to see Phillip Holtzman—
”
no one ever really questioned the badge. The chief medical man—God alone knew how many worked at the Castle, probably the most expensive
“
home
”
in all the East—had said only that Eric could not talk as a detective. Fine, Eric said, tell him I
’
m an art student doing work on his wife.

Fine, the doctor—named Horn—had agreed, and sent Eric to the solarium to wait.

“
Phillip will be down soon,
”
Doctor Horn said, entering now.

“
I appreciate this,
”
Eric said.
“
And I promise it won
’
t take long.
”

“
Please don
’
t mention the death,
”
Doctor Horn said.
“
It brutalized him, her going that way. I don
’
t think he
’
ll ever come back from it.
”

“
It
’
s not the death I
’
m here about,
”
Eric assured Horn.
“
I
’
m just tracking down some names, and if he can
’
t help me, there
’
s a woman named Sally Levinson I
’
m going to call.
”

“
I don
’
t think she
’
ll talk to you.
”

“
Why?
”

“
Just a feeling I have. I know Sally Levinson well enough to tell you she doesn
’
t do much she doesn
’
t want to. The word
‘
feisty was invented to fit her.
”

Eric was about to ask more about her, but then stopped as a tall thin man made his way into the room, aided by a nurse. Eric studied Phillip Holtzman, decided he looked like the husk of Raymond Massey.

“
This is Eric Lorber,
”
Doctor Horn said.
“
The art person who wanted to chat a little about Edith.
”

Phillip nodded. The nurse helped him into a chair.
“
Perhaps you
’
re cold,
”
she said, got a blanket, tucked it around him, left the man alone.

“
Thank you for taking the time,
”
Eric said gently.

Quick smile from Phillip.
“
Not too much pressing today. Not a lot on. Not a lot on.
”

“
Why don
’
t I get to it anyway,
”
Eric said.
“
I was wondering—this is for some work Pm doing concerning the paintings—what you could tell me about someone named Rosa Gonzales?
”

“
Again that last name?
”
The thin head leaned forward.

‘‘
Gonzales, sir.
”
.
“
Superb,
”
Phillip said then.
“
Absolutely superb.
”

Eric waited, not understanding.

“
Would have beaten Tilden, would have beaten Vines, finest service in the history of the game.
”

“
That was
Pancho
Gonzales, Phillip,
”
Doctor Horn put in quietly.

“
Ah,
”
Phillip said and he stared at the water. Then he began to fidget.

Eric watched the fidgeting become more intense. He looked at the doctor.

“
I hope the planes are landing,
”
Phillip Holtzman said then.

“
Phillip,
”
Doctor Horn said.
“
I
’
m sure the planes will be fine.
”

Phillip looked at his watch. Then he studied the waves through the solarium glass. Again his watch. The waves were starting to pound.

Abruptly Phillip stood—
”
I
’
m meeting Edith at the airport, I hope the planes are landing.
”

“
Phillip
…
”
Doctor Horn said quietly.

“
Well it
’
s getting severe, there
’
s a wind rising, a dreadful damn February wind—nothing good happens in February—bad month, bad month—
”
A final look at his watch.
“
I must get to the airport
now,
or Edith will be kept waiting.
”
He tried to take a step unaided.

Gently Doctor Horn had him, brought him back to the chair, covered him with the blanket, all the while speaking evenly and softly—
”
Edith won
’
t be on the plane, Phillip—this is 1981 and she left us in 1960—that
’
s twenty-one years ago and she won
’
t be on the plane.
”

Phillip fidgeted, stared at the waves.

Eric thought how much he didn
’
t want to be where he was, watching the remains of what once was probably a wonderful human. Some people hated cancer more than any disease; Eric hated senility. The last two years of his own father
’
s life had been pocked with senility.

“
It
’
s in and out,
”
the doctor said.

Eric nodded.

“
Try the name again in a moment.
”

Phillip was off on his own now, drumming his thin fingers on the arm of the chair.

“
How long has he been here?
”
Eric asked.

“
Many many years,
”
the doctor said.

“
Mexican,
”
Phillip muttered then.
“
Tempestuous fellow, Gonzales; on the court. Didn
’
t know the man so I can
’
t speak of his private behavior. But in the heat of battle, a firebrand; I always put that off to his cultural heritage.
”

Eric began wondering if he could take much more, because he was remembering what a dynamo Ike had been, Ike the father, and the genuine anguish his brain
’
s deterioration had meant to those around him, and clearly, he was not going to get much coherent out of Phillip Holtzman. Not today. Not with the winds foaming the water.

So he almost left then, but he didn
’
t, and thank God for that. Because it was less than ten minutes later, when the winds had for a moment quieted, that Phillip softly and with unmistakable clarity, began to talk, so lovingly, about
“
The Blues
”
…

“
Miss Levinson?
”
Eric held a beer in one hand, the phone in the other, stared out at the Chagalls. It was coming up to eight o
’
clock and the February crowds were scurrying across the great
plaza toward the theatres.

“
Yes.
”

“
My name is Eric Lorber. I
’
m a detective, and I
’
d like very much to talk to you.
”

“
Oh shit, is this about those goddam parking violations again? It
’
s all being handled bx my lawyer.
”

“
Miss Levinson—
”

“
—I resent you bothering me at home. At this hour. And I
really
resent the way you bastards stuck that No Parking sign in front of my gallery—
I’ll
go all the way on this, Detective Lorber —I
’
m going to park my car where I have a right to park it and these scare tactics aren
’
t going to work. You can tell Ed Koch I said
‘
screw.
’”

Eric had to smile. What was the word the doctor had used about Sally Levinson out at the home?
Feisty!
That was on the right track.
“
Vesuvian
”
might be closer, if there was such a word.
“
This had nothing to do with parking tickets, I promise you.
”

“
What, then?
”

Eric knew the terrain was shifting and dangerous, but when he said the words,
“
Edith Mazursky
’
s death,
”
he was genuinely surprised at the vehemence of the response.

“
Hear this now-—because our conversation is about to terminate—I have not talked about it, I do not want to talk about it, and there is nothing in this world you could say to make me talk about it—
”

Eric could sense she was about to slam the phone down so he cut in with-—
”
you don
’
t know how important this is to me—
”

“
—
and Edith
’
s death—Edith s suicide—was very fucking important to me, Mister—
’
⁹

“
—maybe it wasn
’
t just suicide,
”
Eric said then.

A beat. Then:
“
Explain yourself.
”

“
I can
’
t. But I think it was more than suicide, and don
’
t ask me what that means, I won
’
t know what it means without talking to you.
”

And now there came this incredible pause. It went on and on and when it ended, the voice at the other end was washed, the anger gone. Finally Eric heard the words
“
Come on over.
”

He reached her Fifth Avenue building a few minutes later, asked the doorman to announce him. That formality done, Eric crossed the lobby, let an elevator man do what he got paid for. When he reached the Levinson floor, there was a small foyer entrance. Eric buzzed. The door opened.

A small woman who must have been June Allyson cute once answered the door. She was wearing a voluminous robe. She ushered Eric into the enormous apartment.

Eric hesitated, then flashed his badge.
“
These days you should always ask, Miss Levinson. Just because someone says he
’
s a detective doesn
’
t make it so. Don
’
t be so trusting.
”

Sally burst out laughing.

Eric inquired as to what he said that was so funny.

From the folds of her robe, Sally removed an enormous pistol and pointed it at Eric.
“
Don
’
t worry, I promise you it
’
s loaded. My father gave me this when I first went to Europe. He thought some Frenchman might try and overpower me. You don
’
t know how funny that is. Detective Lorber, last week I was ripped off slightly by two Caucasian youths who I believe attend Collegiate. I am not a trusting soul, take that on faith.
”

“
You
’
ve convinced me.
”

Sally put on the safety, placed the pistol into a hall table by the door. Then she led Eric into the living room. It was enormous, forty feet long or more, and the view of Fifth Avenue would have been hard to improve on.

But what brought Eric to a halt were the Mazursky Madonnas. They ranged all around the room, each with a small light above. The feel of Edith in the air was overpowering. Eric stared at the famous group of paintings.
“
I
’
ve only seen photographs,
”
he said.

“
I
’
m sick of showing them,
”
Sally said.
“
For a while they were always off on display. But I thought,
‘
shit, they can be on display when I
’
m in the ground, I want
‘
em here.
’”

They sat together on a couch.
“
I
’
ve realty got two main questions,
”
Eric began.
“
Two main areas of discussion.
”

“
I discuss nothing before you make me a promise.
”

“
If I can.
”

“
If
what you said on the phone turns out to be true, that Edith
’
s death was something more than suicide, if you find whoever or whatever
’
s involved, you must promise to call me and tell me who or what or how.
”

Eric raised his right hand.
“
No problem.
”

“
All right; first question.
”

“
Rosa Gonzales.
”

Blank.

“
Take your time. There
’
s a connection between Edith Mazursky Holtzman and someone named Rosa Gonzales.
”

Sally shook her head.
“
We were sisters, you know. But loving ones. She knew all my secrets, I knew hers. I swear I never heard that name till now.
”

Eric waited.

“
I
’
m really sorry. On to the next.
”

“
Tell me about
‘
The Blues.
’”

“
Musical form,
”
Sally said quickly.
“
Black beginnings. South. Plantation origins maybe. I
’
m just guessing.
”

Also lying, Eric thought.

“
Why are you looking at me?
”

“
I meant the
‘
Mazursky Blues.
’
I
’
m sorry. I should have been more specific.
”