Missing Marlene (7 page)

Daniel stared harder at the contract, but the words refused to unblur. It didn’t matter; he no longer comprehended their meaning. And this was no way to read a contract, especially for the first book he’d ever sold.

He rubbed his eyes and put the contract, along with his three pages of notes, in his top drawer to finish on Monday. He would ask Jane to go over the contract for him, of course, but he wanted to do as careful a job as he could. Tanya Selman, the author of
Sea Glass
, the quiet literary novel Daniel had sold to a small publisher called Oasis Press, was especially naive about publishing, and that made Daniel want to do an especially thorough job.

He got up and stretched, arching his sore shoulder muscles, then slipped on his blazer and got his coat from the closet.

He went to the window that looked out on the green. It had grown dark hours ago, but in the glow of the gas lampposts that studded the perimeter of the green he could make out the lone figure of a woman walking crisply along Center Street toward him. He realized it was Jane’s friend Ginny Williams, who worked at Whipped Cream. He liked her; she was an honest, straightforward person. As if sensing his thoughts, she looked up and saw him in the window. Her face broke into a sweet smile, and she waved, then marched determinedly on, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her windbreaker.

Daniel pulled down the blind. Then he went into Jane’s office as he always did last thing before leaving for the day. She was so absentminded that she almost always left something important behind—a manuscript, a contract, some important phone number—which Daniel would drop off at her house on his way home. Other times she left things at home. Like when she’d left Roger’s awful manuscript at home on Monday, and Daniel had driven over to Jane’s house to get it.

He didn’t want to think about that.

Jane’s desk looked as if someone had stood over it and dumped out a barrel of papers, pens, napkins, and notes. When Daniel, fresh out of Yale, had started to work for Jane and Kenneth, he had tried to make some sense of Jane’s desk each night, sorting the mess into stacks: contracts, manuscripts, negotiation notes, correspondence, and so forth. Jane hadn’t even noticed. Falling into her chair the next morning, she would run her splayed hands over his perfect stacks, like a blind person seeking an object by feel, until she’d found what she was looking for, and very soon the stacks were one great heap again. Daniel had realized that Jane liked her heap, and he had never touched it again.

Standing at the desk, he reran the day’s important events in his mind, trying to think of anything Jane might need tonight. That fool Rosemary Davis had told Jane to turn down the offer on her mystery because Rosemary had decided not to take out the dog. So Jane wouldn’t need her negotiation notes on that deal. Which was a pity. Jane, in her shaky financial situation, could have used the commission.

Daniel had asked Jane to read the manuscript of a novel he wanted to represent. He could see a corner of the manuscript peeking out from under last Thursday’s
USA Today
. He wished Jane had taken it home with her, but he wouldn’t press her.

In the center of the heap, right on top, was a yellow legal pad on which Jane had written the heading
Roger Haines
. Under that she had written
In the Name of the Mother
, the title of Roger’s new manuscript. Then there were comments, many of which Daniel had contributed, pages and pages of them. And none of those comments could ever save that pile of paper Roger called a novel. Not that Roger would ever consider them anyway.

Daniel realized that Roger hadn’t called today. That was decidedly odd, considering the mess he and Jane were in with Arliss. Oh well, Roger was one more aggravation Jane hadn’t needed today—though Daniel was aware that Jane saw Roger as anything but an aggravation. Poor Jane had romantic designs on Roger. If she could only see him for all he was. . . . But Daniel had already decided he wasn’t going to think about that.

Daniel left Jane’s office, grabbed his briefcase on his way past his desk, and went out the front door and locked it. Then he started for his car, parked not far away in the municipal lot.

All the lights were on upstairs when Daniel pulled into the driveway. He hoped Laura wouldn’t be annoyed that he’d stayed at work so late. She’d said she was going to do some errands and just relax today. Climbing the stairs to their apartment on the top floor of the two-family house, he checked his watch. It was nearly eight.

She opened the door just as he reached it. She was in jeans and a baggy pale blue T-shirt and had tied back her light brown hair.

He wrapped his arm around her tiny waist, pulled her to him, and kissed her.

“Mmm, nice.” She took his briefcase from him and led the way into the kitchen. “I picked us up some lasagna from Giorgio’s on the way home from the mall. It’s in the oven.”

“You were right near my office. Why didn’t you come in?”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” she said dutifully.

She plunked down at the table and beamed at him as if she knew a secret, her gray eyes huge in her pale heart-shaped face.

“All right,” he said, “what’s going on?”

“Sit down.”

His heart leaped. Please, don’t let her be pregnant. They’d agreed they couldn’t possibly afford a baby. “What is it?”

“Don’t look so terrified! It’s something good.”

He waited.

“Now, Daniel, you have to promise to be open-minded.”

He laughed. “I’m marrying a white woman, aren’t I? Wouldn’t you say that makes me open-minded?”

“No, Daniel,” she said seriously, “in most ways you’re not. Now, you know we’ve been worried about money. You know we love Jane and everything. But, Daniel, you don’t make much money at your job, and—”

“Just say it!”

“All right.” From the pocket of her jeans she took a slip of paper and handed it to him. On it she had written
Beryl Patrice
, and under it
Silver and Payne
. There was a New York City phone number.

He frowned down at the note. “Silver and Payne? That’s where Jane and Kenneth used to work. Beryl Patrice—”

“Runs the agency.”

“So?”

She looked as if she would burst. “So she called you!”

“Called me? Why?”

“Now, Daniel, you’re not looking open-minded. Just listen to me. She was very nice. She said she would like to talk to you about—now don’t say anything—about the possibility of your coming to work there.”

“Work there! At Silver and Payne?
Me?
Why?”

“As an agent, idiot. Isn’t that what you are?”

“No, not really. I have three clients. I’ve sold one book. Laura, what is this all about?”

“That’s all she said. Well, actually she said she’d heard wonderful things about you and was eager to meet you.”

“Heard wonderful things from whom?”

“I asked her that. She didn’t say.”

He was still glowering at the note.

“Just say you’ll call her back.”

“Oh, I’ll call her back. I return phone calls. But I’m sure you’ve got it wrong. They probably need an assistant and somehow got hold of my name. But I’m already an assistant. And more important than that, I’m happy working with Jane.”

“Working
for
Jane.”

“No,
with
Jane. Laura, what’s gotten into you? You know how I feel about her. She’s like family to me.”

“Family wants what’s best for family.”

He got up and opened the oven door. The lasagna bubbled invitingly. “I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

“Subject changer.”

He spun around and tickled her ribs through her oversize T-shirt.

She squealed. “Stop. She said she’d heard you were brilliant.”

“Brilliant! Oh, Laura, please.”
Who
could have given her his name? “Is that all she said?”

“Mm-hmm. I’m sure she’ll have more to say when you call her. Which will be when?”

“Monday—when else?”

She looked disappointed. “Not tonight?”

“Of course not tonight. It’s after eight.”

“But that’s her
home
number. She wants to talk to you as soon as possible.”

That stopped him short. Now he really was curious. “All right, after dinner.”

“Good,” she said, clearly restraining herself.

He served them lasagna while she put ice in glasses and poured iced tea.

“How was your day?” he asked when they were both seated.

“Okay. I bought some jeans and a sweater at the Gap. Yours?”

“Tiring. Aggravating.” He told her about Rosemary Davis.

“What about Roger? Wasn’t he aggravating today?”

“Actually, no. He didn’t call.”

“Any word from Marlene?”

Laura had met Marlene only once, at Jane’s party for Roger, but that one meeting had been enough for Laura to dislike Marlene intensely. A manipulative bitch, Laura had called her. Daniel didn’t disagree, but also wondered if Laura, though herself lovely, wasn’t envious of Marlene’s incredible looks.

“No word,” he answered. “Jane went to the police this morning.”

“The police! To report her missing?”

He nodded, chewing. “I actually thought Marlene might call today, after Jane left that note for Zena at the theater.” He’d told her all about last night’s escapade.

“Well, what did the police say?”

“That they’d ask some questions. They didn’t like hearing she’d been involved with that Gil guy.”

Laura sipped her iced tea and rolled her eyes. “The girl is trash. Why can’t we all just forget about her and get on with it?”

“Because that ‘trash’ is the daughter of Jane’s oldest friend.”

“You certainly seemed interested in her at Jane’s party.”

He stared at her in amazement. “I
chatted
with her.”

“About what?” she asked innocently.

He shrugged, shook his head. “I don’t know, nothing really. She asked me if I was married—”

“Aha!” she cried.

“Aha what?”

“She was interested in you. Were you interested in her?”

“Laura, of course not,” he said impatiently. “I told her you were my fiancée. I pointed you out to her. Then I brought her over to meet you. You remember.”

“Mm-hmm. What did she say when you pointed me out?”

“She said you were pretty.”

Laura raised one eyebrow. “Did she now? She’s pretty, too. Beautiful, I’d say. Prettier than me.”

“Laura! What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” she pouted, twirling her fork in her lasagna. “I just don’t like beautiful women sizing you up, that’s all.”

“Sizing me up!”

“Yes,” she insisted, leaning forward in her chair. “You happen to be a very handsome man. And from my brief meeting with Marlene, I’d say she considers
all
men who appeal to her fair game.”

How right you are
, Daniel thought.

“That may be,” he said quietly, meeting her gaze, “but the only woman
I’m
interested in is you.”

She allowed a tiny smile, tilted her chin as she pondered. “You know, if you made more money, we could maybe get married sooner....”

“Subject changer!” he said with a laugh. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and picked up the note from the table. “I’ll make you a deal. You clean up, I’ll call Beryl.”

“Deal!” She jumped up and started clearing the table.

“But no listening in!” he warned her.

“Damn,” she said, stacking plates in the sink. Then her face grew serious, and she gave him an imploring look. “Daniel, really, honey—open-minded, okay?”

He was already heading for the bedroom. “Okay, okay.”

“I mean you have to at least see her. You can’t just say you’re happy where you are and that there’s no point.”

“Fine,” he said, though not liking that, and closed the door.

From what Jane had told Daniel about Beryl Patrice, he disliked her already. According to Jane, Beryl had been a secretary at a major women’s magazine in the sixties when Henry Silver was selling serializations of his best-sellers to Beryl’s boss. Beryl, an ambitious beauty, had targeted Henry and taken full advantage of his business relationship with her magazine to work her way into his affections and his bed. They had embarked on a torrid affair, though Beryl and Silver were both married—Beryl to an advertising executive, Silver to the Broadway actress Dinah Calhoun.

Eventually Beryl left her magazine and went to work for Henry as his assistant. She rose quickly to become a successful and respected literary agent in her own right, as well as director of the agency. Silver, now in his eighties, was long divorced from Calhoun and his two subsequent wives. Beryl, according to Jane, was still married to her advertising executive. As for Silver and Beryl’s relationship, it had apparently evolved into an intimate friendship.

Kenneth, though always discreet, had clearly disliked Beryl. As Jane told it, Beryl had made a pass or two at the handsome Kenneth, who’d had no easy time rebuffing her without jeopardizing his status at the agency. It wasn’t surprising that Jane disliked Beryl as well, calling her “a woman of monstrous appetites.”

A great intro, Daniel thought as he dialed the number on Laura’s note.

“Ah, Mr. Willoughby!” Beryl Patrice’s voice was mellow and smooth, at once grand and girlish. “I’m so glad you called.”

“My fiancée said you were looking for someone for your agency . . . ?”

“Indeed we are, indeed we are. Tell me, Mr. Willoughby,” she said, all business now, “can you come in and see me? The sooner the better.”

Open-minded. Open-minded. “Uh, yes, that’s possible, Ms. Patrice, but can you tell me—what position, exactly, are you looking to fill?”