Let Me Whisper in Your Ear (8 page)

Pop was there the day the crown prince of Saudi Arabia came with his entire entourage to see the two-headed cow at the animal freak show. Once, the king and queen of Nepal came—and wouldn't leave. The park had to stay open late while the royal pair rode every ride and played every game.

Top entertainers came to perform for record summer crowds. Pop had heard Tony Bennett, Diana Ross, Frankie Avalon, Chubby Checker and the Jackson Five sing their hearts out on the open-air stage.

To young Laura, growing up after the park had been torn down to make way for high-rise condominiums, it was magical to hear that Cliffside Park had once drawn people from all over the world.

“Laura, honey. I'm glad you're home. Merry Christmas, Munk. Did you bring Francheska?”

Father and daughter hugged each other. Laura instinctively sniffed and was relieved to smell Old Spice instead of the Budweiser that had led to so many fits of violence. She blinked, remembering the stinging smacks across the face she had received over the years. He didn't mean it. He couldn't help it. It was the alcohol that made him do it. The alcohol and the anger at his situation. Laura understood it better now, but the emotional scars ran deep.

“Merry Christmas, Pop. No, Francheska couldn't come.” Laura handed her package to Emmett. “Go ahead, open it right away.”

Emmett hesitated. “Well, wait just a minute. I have your presents upstairs. Let me go get them.” He started for the basement stairs, but Laura pulled him back.

“We can open the other presents later, but I want you to open this one now, down here.”

“Okay, Monkey. If that's what you want.”

Emmett took his customary seat in a chair he kept next to the miniature Cyclone. Carefully, he pulled at the tape that fastened the bow.

“Just rip it open,” Laura urged. If her father knew how much she had paid for the glass roller-coaster ornament, he would choke.

Emmett's face broke into a wide smile as he held up the shiny ornament. “This is terrific, sweetie. Thank you. I'm going to put it right on the tree.”

Laura followed her father up the stairs.

“Hey, Munk, did I tell you that they asked me to bring my park to the fund-raiser that they are having next month to raise money for a real Palisades Park museum?” he called over his shoulder.

“Yes, Pop, you mentioned it. That's wonderful.” He had already told her at least half a dozen times.

Afterward they went upstairs to open the other presents. Emmett was much more excited about his new VCR than he was over the Christopher Radko ornament.

“Honey, you shouldn't have spent so much money on me.”

Laura smiled with pleasure.

“That old VCR of yours is always breaking down, Pop, or eating tapes. I wanted you to have a new one.”

“That's just too much money to spend, Laura,” her father insisted, but Laura could tell he was enthusiastic about his gift. Emmett was forever taping shows and watching them at his leisure.

“Is dinner almost ready?” asked Laura, changing the subject. “It smells wonderful.” She rose from the worn sofa and went to the kitchen, Emmett following her. Together they put the finishing touches on their Christmas feast.

*   *   *

“So, Munk, are you still working on those funeral stories?” Emmett asked as he cut into his rare prime rib.

Laura nodded as she tried the whipped potatoes. “They're called obituaries, Pop.”

“The whole thing gives me the willies. If you ask me, it's just plain creepy to do stories on somebody's death before they are actually dead.” Emmett shook his head as he spread butter on a flaky popover.

“Well, Pop, you'll be glad to know that I'm trying to branch out. I've proposed a story for
Hourglass
and the executive producer is interested in it. I'm hoping that I can do a good job on it and earn a position on his staff.”

“Good for you, honey. I'm so proud of you. Who'd have ever thought that a daughter of mine would become a big television producer!”

Laura laughed. “Hold on a minute, Pop. I don't have the job yet.”

“But you will, Munk, you will,” said Emmett, looking pleased. “You've always done everything you've set your mind to. What's the story?”

Knowing his obsession and fascination with her subject, Laura was eager to tell her father. “Palisades Park and the disappearance of Tommy Cruz.”

The pleased look fell from Emmett's face.

“What's wrong, Pop?”

“Munk, why do you want to dredge all that up? Think about how the poor Cruzes will feel having all that on television.”

“I would think they'd take some satisfaction that Tommy's death is finally getting the attention it deserves. Maybe we'll be able to find out what really happened. I'm sure the Cruzes would want to know that.”

“I doubt it, Munk. I sincerely doubt it. Let them rest in peace.” Emmett rose and retrieved a can of beer from the refrigerator.

Laura groaned inwardly. Not wanting to distress Emmett further, especially at Christmas dinner, Laura decided to change the subject.

“Hey, Pop, guess where I'm going New Year's Eve.”

19

W
ORKING ON
C
ASPER'S
Ghostland on Christmas night was truly sick, but so were all obsessions.

The computer screen glowed in the darkened room. Against the bright white background, the names of America's media elite were listed in bold block letters.

The editors and publishers of
Time, Newsweek,
the
New York Times,
the
Wall Street Journal,
the heads of the television networks, the executive producers of the major news broadcasts, as well as the familiar personalities that anchored them made the list. One hundred names in all.

Fortunately, John Kennedy, Jr., even as the head of his magazine
George,
had never made the list, so the pot had been growing for a long time. No one expected someone so young to die. None of the newshounds had been prepared for that.

Casper's Ghostland was a secret pool, and anonymity was guaranteed. For one thousand dollars a month, high-rolling members of the pool placed a bet. A bet on who would die next.

Casper's Ghostland was also a lottery. The names were assigned to the bettors. No one could choose who they were placing their money on. Except, of course, the organizer of the game.

One name to a customer—and only for thirty days, please. You paid your thousand bucks, got a name, and waited. If the month went by without a winner, everyone was assigned a different name in the pool. Casper, of course, kept the same name: that was the plan. The pool grew and grew, one hundred thousand dollars amassing each month. Now over two million dollars sat in the account.

For twenty months it had been hard to sit and wait. But now the payoff was near.

Just another week.

Casper offered up a “Friendly Ghost's” prayer.
Please, God, don't call any of the other names home to their heavenly rewards.

20

Sunday, December 26

T
HE
E
AST
H
ARLEM
Tutorial Project was housed in an old four-story brownstone painted neon blue on a horrible inner-city block, Second Avenue between 105th and 106th Streets. No sessions were being held Christmas week, but Laura hurried to meet her student anyway, the sound of boom boxes and police sirens blaring in her ears.

East Harlem was the city's original Puerto Rican enclave. Traditionally an entry-level immigrant neighborhood, arriving waves of Germans, Irish and Italians had settled there. But in the fifties, when Puerto Ricans began coming to New York in significant numbers, East Harlem became home for those who had left the sunny island.

East Harlem, Spanish Harlem, El Barrio were interchangeable names for the area roughly defined by 96th Street to the south and 140th Street to the north, from Fifth Avenue to the East River. El Barrio was widely acknowledged as the birthplace of salsa music, and in the busy streets, pulsing rhythms filled the air.

The neighborhood was poor. Junky stores lined the trash-strewn sidewalk. The abandoned lot next to the tutorial building was strewn with cans, broken bottles, cigarette butts, used condoms and, more often than not, Laura noticed, hypodermic needles. A wonderful atmosphere for learning.

The tutorial program was not remedial. The kids enrolled were bright enough. But they needed to be given opportunity and exposure to life beyond their limiting city blocks and economic situations. Once a week, for two hours, Laura had signed on to help a child develop the life of the mind.

Ten-year-old Jade Figueroa was Laura's student. They had been meeting on Saturday mornings since school started in September and Laura was happy with the relationship that was developing between them. The little girl with black bangs and pigtails lived with her mother and grandmother in a small apartment near the tutorial building. Jade's dad was not on the scene. Jade didn't talk about him.

As Laura approached the building, she spotted Jade and her mother, Myra, waiting outside the entrance. They'd arranged to meet here. Laura knew that it would save time. The Figueroas' apartment building had just two elevator banks for hundreds of apartments. Laura had dropped Jade home once, and they had had to wait almost a full half hour to catch the smelly elevator.

Jade stood on the sidewalk now, looking excited. Her dark brown eyes shone, her white uneven teeth beamed from her scrubbed round face. Myra had carefully braided her daughter's shining hair and adorned it with little plastic butterflies. As she held tightly to her mother's hand, she bounced up and down. Laura knew that this would be Jade's first trip just forty blocks south, but a world away, to FAO Schwarz.

When Laura had told her that the toy store let every kid play with any toy in the place, Jade had listened wide-eyed.

“Really?”

“Um-hmm. You can try out anything you want and see if you want to buy it.”

Jade's face fell.

“What's wrong?” Laura asked.

“You need money to buy the toys. I don't have any.”

“Well, I'll tell you what,” Laura had proposed a few weeks ago. “You ask your mother if it's okay with her, and I'll take you to FAO Schwarz for Christmas and you can try the toys out. If you find one you really like, I'll buy it for you.”

Today, the day after Christmas, was the day they had agreed upon for their excursion.

Myra eyed Laura a bit warily as she handed over her daughter.

“Jade's been lookin' forward to this for weeks. She didn't sleep last night, she was so excited that Christmas would last one more day.”

“Well, I'm excited about this, too.” Laura smiled. “Thank you for letting me take her.”

“When you be home?” Myra's thick Hispanic accent sometimes made it difficult for Laura to understand her.

“Four o'clock okay?”

Myra nodded. “I'll be here waiting at four o'clock.”

Jade pulled her hand from her mother's. Myra zipped up the child's blue ski jacket tight around her neck and adjusted her red wool scarf.

“You be a good girl, Jade.”

“Yes, Mama. I'll be good. I promise.”

The subway ride downtown seemed quick to Laura, but Jade asked when they were going to get there a dozen times.

Laura watched Jade's awed expression as a real-life toy soldier greeted them at the entrance to the Fifth Avenue store. The child was hypnotized by the endless spinning, bobbing, bouncing and flashing of the Clock Tower. The rolling blue eyes and the chattering red lips of the animated, singing timepiece mesmerized her. They stood for ten minutes watching its tiers of chugging trains and floating blimps.

Together, they toured the aisles of wonderful distractions in the world's most fabulous toy store. Radio-controlled race cars zipped past their feet. Barbie dolls smiled in their glittering designer ball gowns, GI Joes in their camouflage posted sentry. Star Wars figures loomed. There were towers of board games, and video games flashed from shiny monitors. Electronic and science toys filled one buzzing section. Another area was stocked floor to ceiling with stuffed animals of all whimsical shapes and sizes.

Laura steered Jade to the Lollipop Forest in the candy area. The Gummy Bear totem pole and a twelve-foot chocolate soldier greeted them. Jade looked longingly at the world's largest M&M selection.

“Want some?” Laura asked.

Jade hesitated.

“It doesn't count as your present,” Laura reassured her.

As Jade carefully ate her candies, one at a time, Laura asked her if she had made a decision.

“I saw a dog I liked. Mama says we can't have a real dog in our apartment. Maybe I could get that dog?” she asked uncertainly.

“The dog it is. Let's go.”

From the array of dozens of soft, creamy-colored stuffed dogs, all named Patrick the Pup, the FAO Schwarz mascot, Jade chose the one whose ears weren't quite so perky as the others.

“He looks like he needs a good home,” she said satisfied. “I want him.”

Afterward, they walked along Central Park South together, the winter wind blowing into their happy faces. But Jade's beam faded as she looked up at her older companion.

“What's that?” she asked solemnly, pointing to Laura's bare forehead, the bangs now blown back by the cold breeze.

Caught off guard, Laura reached up and touched the space over her brow.

“Oh, this? It's just a scar I got when I fell and hit the corner of a table. I was just a little older than you when it happened.”

Jade nodded, satisfied with what she did not know was only a partial explanation.

Laura was careful to leave out the part about her father's drunken anger and frustration that had led to his striking his young daughter, sending her careening into the table's edge.

21