Died with a Bow (2 page)

“Rita, I see you’ve met Vienna.” More beaming, this time from Dolce, who was wearing business casual—a magenta ruffled top with a tweed jacket and some sleek straight pants. “I knew you two girls would get along. And having Vienna here will free you up for some important work I need you to help me with,” she said to me.

The work she had in mind was unpacking boxes of clothes, pressing them and hanging them on racks. The kind of thing you would ask the new girl to do, I thought. But no, Dolce, ever tactful, said she trusted only me to handle the new merchandise. Which made me feel good for about ten minutes. Then I missed my old job of being out front. The question was, didn’t the customers miss me too?

As I worked by myself in the back room sorting endless boxes of new clothes and accessories, I could hear the sound of voices out in front. There was laughter and gossip, but I wasn’t part of it anymore. That hurt. How long was I going to have to play the role of the backstage understudy? Once I overheard a customer saying, “Where’s Rita?” I stopped and straightened my shoulders, ready to pop out and say, “Here I am,” but then I heard Vienna say I was busy today and could she help her?

Of course it was her first day and she was excited and eager to prove herself without me around to show her up. I could understand that. Tomorrow would be different. How,
I wasn’t sure. Would Vienna be willing to do this kind of work when the fun of the job was finding the right outfit for the right customer for the right occasion? I suspected the answer was no, she wouldn’t.

After we’d closed that evening and Vienna had left with her boyfriend Geoffrey, a tall, lanky guy she pointed out to us when he stopped in the street to pick her up on his BMW motorcycle, Dolce explained that Vienna was working on commission only.

“It’s the only way I could afford to hire her,” Dolce told me. “And why she has to work up front with the customers she promised to bring in. If she isn’t selling anything, she isn’t earning any money. Whereas you…”

She didn’t have to say more. I had a salary. It wasn’t very much, but it was enough to live on as long as I got a big discount on my designer clothes and didn’t go out to eat unless someone took me. Which hadn’t happened lately. And which used to happen more frequently when I was the new girl in town. There was no guy on an expensive motorcycle waiting outside for me today. No guy at all.

Only a few months ago I’d been juggling dates with Nick, an athletic Romanian gymnastics instructor; Jonathan, a gorgeous ER doctor; and Detective Jack Wall of the San Francisco Police Department, but my phone had stopped ringing after I helped Jack solve a murder. It seemed to be a case of No Good Deed Goes Unpunished.

Maybe Dr. Jonathan Rhodes was dating one of those attractive nurses I’d seen the last time I was at the hospital to have my sprained ankle examined. They’d have more in common with him than I ever would. I couldn’t discuss sprains or infections in a meaningful way if that’s what he was looking for in a date.

Maybe Nick the gymnast was busy giving classes in Competitive Trampoline, Introduction to the Balance Beam and so forth. He’d wanted me to sign up for one of his classes, but instead I joined Alto Aquatics, a swim club where I got my exercise swimming laps and learning flotation and water safety techniques from the swim coach. Maybe it’s because I was born under the sign of Aquarius, the water bearer, that I’m more at home in the water than at a gym. What I do know is that I’m a typical Aquarius in that I look good in turquoise and I’m tolerant of others’ viewpoints. To a certain degree.

It might be time to check up on my favorite police detective, though I knew my aunt Grace strongly disapproved of women chasing men. At age eighty, she’s so with-it, she even has a Facebook page. At the same time, she has such strict rules, she doesn’t approve of calling or texting men unless they contact her first. She definitely wouldn’t approve of going to the neighborhood where a certain man worked and having dinner at his favorite Vietnamese restaurant just in case he dropped in. I could just see her shaking her head, the curls in her bold, blond updo quivering at the very idea.

It was possible the sexiest cop in the city had been transferred out of town, or he’d gotten disillusioned with law enforcement and quit, or he was wounded in the line of duty or…It was only common courtesy for me to find out if he was okay.

“Date night?” Dolce asked me hopefully before I left. She’d probably noticed there’d been a drop in the number of men in my life from three to zero, and maybe she guessed I was eager to leave the shop where I didn’t exactly feel important today.

“Not tonight,” I said brightly, as if every other night was booked. She knew better. She knew I’d tell her if I was going
somewhere and that she’d get a kick out of dressing me up for whatever the occasion.

“You know there’s the Annual Bay to Breakers Bachelor Auction coming up,” she said. “I bought tickets today from Patti for you and me and Vienna. All the money goes to support the San Francisco Art Museum. It’s a black-tie gala at the Palace Hotel. Every eligible bachelor in town will be on stage. We’ll all get dressed up and go ogle the beefsteak,” she said with a youthful gleam in her eye, though she always said she was too old to lust after men.

I wasn’t too old to lust, but I was too poor to have fun bidding on men I didn’t know. It would be no fun losing out on the good ones because I’d been outbid by women with more money than I had. But it was kind of Dolce to get me a ticket and help me dress up for it.

I thanked her, said good night and walked outside. Now what? I couldn’t stand the thought of facing an empty flat even though it had a deck and a sliver of a view of the Bay Bridge. After a day of unpacking boxes at work, I wasn’t in the mood to unpack my own belongings. I also didn’t feel like facing an empty refrigerator in my empty flat. The police district where Jack Wall worked was only a bus ride away. Or I could hop a different bus and drop into the gym where Nick taught classes. But what would be my excuse this time? I’d already observed his class, signed up for lessons that I never took and stopped in for a smoothie at the snack bar. It was his turn to call me.

There was that voice inside my head that kept repeating, “Don’t pursue men. If they want to see you, they know where to find you.” So I took the bus straight home and called Azerbyjohnnie’s, a gourmet pizzeria recommended by one of our customers.

The woman who took my phone order had a distinct foreign accent, one that was vaguely familiar. When I gave my name, she said “How are you, Miss Rita? I haven’t seen you since the funeral of that woman who was murdered.”

“Meera?” I said, recognizing the voice of Nick’s Romanian aunt whom I hadn’t seen since she crashed a “celebration of life” party at a tavern across from the cemetery. Shy she was not. “What are you doing there?”

“Filling out for a Romanian friend,” she said in her distinctive Eastern European accent. “Who had to return to our country on family business. I didn’t want him to lose his job here. I help out and I get free pizza. And some vodka he promised to bring when he returns.”

I was surprised that mattered to Meera, a self-proclaimed vampire. Romanian vodka was not a delicacy according to my Romanian professor at college. He called it rot-gut. As for pizza, I thought Meera only ate traditional Romanian specialties like
sarmale, salata boeuf
and
papanasi
. “What about your job leading tours?” I’d taken her vampire tour of San Francisco with Nick a few months back, which was interesting as long as you didn’t take seriously Meera’s claims that she was a one-hundred-twenty-seven-year-old vampire herself.

“Friday and Saturdays only. You must come again. I have some new sites and information to share with you. Bring a friend. Half price because I like you,” she said. I noticed she said nothing at all about her nephew Nick. Did that mean he, like Dr. Rhodes, had another girlfriend? Someone who was in his adult gymnastics class who was more flexible than I was? If he did, I didn’t want to hear about it and I was glad I hadn’t pursued him. But a minute later I heard myself say, “How is your nephew Nick?”

“Not so fine. He had an accident on the high bar and tore his ligament.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. Though I was glad to hear he had an excuse for ignoring me.

“He was doing a demonstration when he had a miscalculation, and now he has to stay off the leg, so I bring him food after work. I am sure he would like to see you at his flat on Green Street, number seventeen-forty-two,” she said pointedly.

Actually I owed her nephew because he had shown up with food for me when I fell off a ladder a few months ago. “I’ll go see him,” I promised. And I would, but not tonight. I was in no mood to cheer up anyone but myself.

“What about your pizza?” she asked.

“I’ll have the daily special,” I said, looking at my take-out menu. “Rainbow chard, red onions, feta cheese…”

“Why not try the Romanian special instead?” she asked. “My personal favorite, which I am making myself when not taking telephone orders. It comes with cabbage, tomato sauce and grilled carp.”

“I’ll stick with the pizza of the day,” I said firmly. Grilled carp might be delicious, but on pizza?

She sounded disappointed, but she confirmed my order, and I said,
“La revedere,”
and hung up.

The pizza arrived an hour later—it was delicious with a glass of two-buck-Chuck Merlot, which I sipped while congratulating myself on being sensible and frugal. Tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow I would sign up for cooking classes somewhere. If Meera could make pizza, why couldn’t I learn to cook too? Maybe the California Culinary Academy or a small, more intimate place like Tante Marie’s Cooking School where I’d learn basic French techniques. I
would unpack my dishes, buy a set of pots and give little dinner parties instead of sitting around waiting for men to call and invite me out. Yes, tomorrow had to be better.

But it wasn’t.

It was actually worse. Not only did I spend the day doing routine jobs like taking inventory of our winter hats, separating the cloches from the knitted caps and wool berets and packing them away to make room for spring, but I also had office duty and sat in Dolce’s office, which was once a coat closet, answering the phone. Talk about boring and feeling useless. There I was, forced to take multiple messages for Vienna because she’d turned off her cell phone after announcing she was not taking any personal calls at work. So when her father phoned to see how she was doing, I assured him she was a crackerjack saleswoman, which I didn’t know for sure until Dolce confirmed I was right. Good news for her, bad news for me. I started to wonder if I’d ever get out of the back room.

Her boyfriend called and asked me to give her a message. He had a conflict and wouldn’t be able to pick her up tonight. I hoped she wouldn’t be too upset. Then her roommate, Danielle, called to tell her the rent was due.

“Already?” I blurted. Though it was none of my business, my understanding was she’d just moved in this weekend.

“The deposit,” she snapped. “Ever hear of it?”

Just when I was about to do some online research on cooking schools, the phone rang again. It was Vienna’s stepmother, Bobbi, who asked me to have Vienna call her when she had a break.

“Or maybe you’d know,” she said. “What is your employee discount there at Dolce’s?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say,” I said. Mine was thirty percent, but I wasn’t about to share that information with her.

“Of course you can,” she said. Note that I had never met this woman, though Dolce said she was a good customer.

“I’ll have Vienna call you,” I said politely.

“What time does she get off work?” she asked.

“It depends. We close at five, but sometimes there’s work to be done later or there’s a customer who needs something.”

“I see,” she said. “I’m looking for a moto jacket, something in black leather. What have you got?” she asked.

“We have a whole rack of them. My favorite is a vegetable-dyed lambskin with an asymmetrical zipper.”

“Hmm,” she said. “What would I wear under it?”

“I’d go totally girly,” I said. “To offset the biker image, if you know what I mean. A leather jacket would be fabulous over lace with a skirt just below the knees. Boots, of course.”

“Of course,” she said. There was a long silence during which I supposed she was thinking it over. I heard a voice in the background, and then a door slammed.

“One more thing,” she said so softly I could barely hear her. “Has she been driving a new car lately?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I haven’t seen her driving a car at all.”

“She’d better not,” she muttered and hung up.

I went out to the great room where Vienna was artfully tying scarves around the necks of our latest black-and-white striped sweaters. I gave her her messages, which I’d scrawled on a notepad. I didn’t mention the odd question about the new car.

After she scanned the messages, she said, “Next time tell Bobbi I can only take business calls at work. She thinks I’m
her personal shopper and gofer. Well, not anymore. That’s why I had to move out of the house. My poor father. He has to put up with her whining. What did she want?”

“Advice about a leather moto jacket.”

She winced. “As if she doesn’t already have a closet full of leather. Now she’ll be begging my father to get her a new jacket. She thinks he’s made of money.”

I didn’t point out that that’s what everyone thought, since Lex Fairchild, who owned a whole string of car dealerships around the state, was pretty well set up, moneywise. Why would Bobbi resent his giving his daughter a new car when he probably had some models just sitting around the lot and could well afford it?

“I hope you didn’t encourage her,” Vienna said sternly.

“Sorry, I did give her a suggestion for a jacket. She asked me, and after all, I’m a saleswoman first and foremost,” I reminded her in case she thought of me as a drone, which was quite possible. I was in danger of thinking that myself. “Maybe I should have kept quiet.”

Vienna nodded. “Maybe you should. Now you get the picture of how she’s always trying to turn my father against me.”