The Birthday Girl (7 page)

Mersiha yawned and stretched. When she opened her eyes Katherine was walking towards the car, brushing her blonde hair behind her ears. 'Okay, kiddo, let's go,' Katherine said 48 STEPHEN LEATHER as she slid into the driver's seat. 'Do you still want icecream?' 'Do birds sing in the woods?'

Katherine looked across at Mersiha and raised an eyebrow. 'I hope that's the only version of that saying you use.'

Mersiha widened her eyes innocently. 'What do you mean?' she asked.

Katherine grinned. 'You know exactly what I mean.' She started the car and eased it forward. 'Chocolate chip?'

Katherine waited until later, as they sat either side of a chocolate sundae and attacked it with long-handled spoons, before raising the subject of Dr Brown with Mersiha. 'How do you think the session went today?' she asked.

Mersiha shrugged and spooned up a maraschino cherry. 'Okay,' she said.

'He said he thinks you're making terrific progress.'

'He does?' Mersiha said, surprised.

'Uh-huh. But he'd like you to open up to him more.'

They ate in silence for a while, each waiting for the other to speak. Eventually it was Katherine who broke the silence. 'He only wants to help you. If you were to open up to him, the nightmares might stop.'

'They have stopped,' Mersiha said. Katherine raised an eyebrow. 'Almost,' Mersiha added.

'He's right, you know. If you suppress things, they have a way of coming out in other ways.'

'I know, I know. There's no need to go on about it. I'm okay. It's not like I'm crazy or anything.'

Katherine smiled. 'No, that's for sure. You're a very clever, very pretty, very lovely girl. And I love you with all my heart.'

Mersiha smiled. She offered her spoon to Katherine, giving her the maraschino cherry. Katherine put her lips to it, carefully, like a cat feeding.

'One day, maybe I'll be able to talk about it. But not just now.' Mersiha was suddenly serious. 'It's as if I've locked all the bad stuff away and if I open the door it'll all come pouring out. I don't think I'll be able to handle it. Sometimes I realise how much bad stuff there is behind the door, and it scares me.'

Katherine nodded. 'Okay, kiddo. That's okay. Just so long as you remember that we're here for you.' Mersiha smiled. 'Do bears ...' Katherine raised her spoon. 'Watch it, young lady!'

Sal Sabatino surveyed the menu and beamed at the grey-haired waitress as she hovered expectantly. 'So what's good tonight, huh?' he asked.

The waitress scratched her ear with the end of her pencil. 'The calamari's going well, Mr Sabatino.'

'Yeah? What, fried?'

'Baked is better. In a white wine and lemon sauce.'

Sabatino nodded thoughtfully and scratched one of his several chins. 'Yeah, but I really feel like fettuccini carbonara, you know? I love the big pieces of bacon. None of that chopped ham they use in some places.'

'Only the best for you, Mr Sabatino.' The waitress stood patiently by the side of his table. She knew better than to rush Sal Sabatino. One of the customers at another table tried to catch her eye but she pretended not to notice.

'And the sauce. Oh, that sauce. My cholesterol level is going up just thinking about it.' He patted his ample waistline which was only half hidden by the tablecloth. 'You know what my blood pressure was at my last medical? One hundred and fifty over a hundred.' The waitress frowned, not sure if that was good or bad. 'I got it. I got it. I'll have the calamari, like you said, and a half-portion of the fettuccini, as an appetiser.'

'Excellent choice, Mr Sabatino.'

Sabatino handed her the menu with a flourish. 'And bring me a bottle of my usual. Well chilled.'

'Of course, Mr Sabatino.' The customer who'd been trying to get the waitress's attention waved frantically as she headed towards the kitchen, but she didn't stop. She knew that Sabatino wouldn't take kindly to his order being delayed for even a few seconds. He wasn't a man who liked to be kept waiting.

Sabatino sat alone in his corner, close to the stairs which led down to an emergency exit and with his back to the wall. Two of his bodyguards, big men in dark suits, sat at a table by the entrance to the dining room, sharing a bottle of mineral water and trying to look as if they had nothing more sinister than deodorant under their arms. One of the men was chewing on a small unlit cigar. He saw Sabatino looking his way and raised an eyebrow, the only indication that he'd noticed. Sal Sabatino loved his food, but he preferred to eat alone. He toyed with his knife as the waitress returned and opened a bottle of white wine with a flourish. She poured a splash into his glass and he tasted it, rolling it around his mouth before swallowing. He nodded his approval. Sal Sabatino loved everything Italian. He loved the food, he loved the wine, he loved the music, he loved the dark-haired fiery women. He loved it all. Sal Sabatino's one regret in life was that he hadn't been born Italian.

He was refilling his glass for the second time when Maury Anderson appeared in the doorway, mopping his forehead with a large red handkerchief. The bigger of the two bodyguards reached inside his jacket and got to his feet, but Sabatino waved his hand, a large gold ring flashing under the overhead lights, and the man sat down again.

Anderson walked over to Sabatino's table, shoving the handkerchief back into his trouser pocket. He made no move to shake hands and he waited until Sabatino nodded at the vacant chair before sitting down. The waitress scurried over with a menu but Sabatino shooed her away. 'My guest won't be staying,' he said. Sabatino picked up his glass and scrutinised Anderson as he drank. The man was clearly nervous, though the sweat was probably the result of the night's high humidity. 'So, Maury, how did the meeting go?'

Anderson's eyes darted from side to side as if he were frightened of being overheard. 'Not good,' he said.

'What do you mean?' Sabatino's voice dropped an octave and about twenty degrees.

Anderson shivered. 'The bank's putting its own representative on the board. A guy called Nelson.'

'So?'

'So he's going to be going through the books.'

Sabatino screwed up his face as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. 'Where's this guy based?' he asked.

Anderson slipped a business card across the table. 'This is his card.'

Sabatino picked up the pristine white card and studied it like an entomologist examining an unusual specimen. 'What's he like?' he asked.

'Late twenties. Aggressive. Ambitious. African American.'

Sabatino smiled to himself. Political correctness was so pervasive in modern-day America that it had even become part of a clandestine conversation. 'Yeah? I bet he's only ever seen Africa in an atlas,' he said. 'If he's black, why not just say he's black?'

Anderson sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. 'Yeah. He's black. Sorry.'

'You wanna know what's wrong with this fucking country?' Sabatino asked, though the question was clearly rhetorical. 'People are scared to say what they really think. They self-censor, that's what they do. You know those three guys that've been doing those robberies in Guilford? You know the ones? Picking on old folks, raping the women, beating the husbands and stealing everything that's not nailed down? You know they're black, I know they're black, but what does it say in the papers? Three assailants, that's what they say. And why do they say that? Because it's politically incorrect to say that they're black, that's why. What's the world coming to, Maury? Tell me, what's the world coming to?'

'I've no idea, Mr Sabatino.' 'It's a hell of a world, Maury. A hell of a world. So this Nelson, he's gonna be sniffing around, is he?'

Anderson nodded. The waitress appeared with Sabatino's fettuccini carbonara. Sabatino unfurled his napkin and placed it on his lap. 'Okay, Maury, I'll give you a call if I need anything else. You keep an eye on this Nelson for me, okay?'

Anderson hesitated. He scratched the end of his nose with the first finger and thumb of his right hand. 'There is one thing, Mr Sabatino.'

Sabatino tore his eyes off the pasta. 'Not here, Maury. Vincenti will take care of you outside.'

Anderson grinned. 'Thanks, Mr Sabatino. Thanks a lot.' Anderson stood up and held out his hand, but Sabatino was already twirling his fettuccini around his fork. The financial director shrugged and walked away. The smaller of the two bodyguards, the one chewing the cigar, handed him a rolled-up copy of the Baltimore Sun on his way out. Inside was a polythene package containing an ounce of cocaine. Maury Anderson had a major habit, and it was a habit that, for the moment at least, Sabatino was prepared to feed. At some point in the future Anderson would outlive his usefulness, literally, and it would be time to take him on a picnic. Sabatino was looking forward to the prospect.

Mersiha tip-toed down the darkened stairs and into the study in her nightgown, closing the door behind her. She sat down in her father's chair and switched on the computer and its monitor. The screen flickered for a few seconds, then it asked for the password. She typed in her own name. It had been the password for as long as she could remember; her father never changed it.

A menu flashed on to the screen. Towards the bottom of the menu was the program that kept track of the company's finances. She called it up and brought up the most recent profit and loss account. She ran her finger down the screen, silently mouthing the figures. Total income was well down on the previous year, but expenses were several hundred thousand dollars higher. The payroll and the company's Medicare payments made up the bulk of the outgoings. She closed the file and called up the report her father used for forecasting cash flows. She chewed the inside of her lip as she studied the figures. If the Middle Eastern order came through for the MIDAS system, the cash flow would keep the company going for at least three months. But that was purely a forecast; the money, and indeed the order, had yet to be received.

Mersiha called up the balance sheet. Over the months she'd been following her father's financial problems, it had been the balance sheet which had caused her the most headaches. At first she hadn't been able to make sense of the lists of assets and liabilities, but she'd spent hours in the school library reading every economics and business book she could get her hands on. It had been hard going, but gradually she'd worked out how to read the company's records and now she could tell almost at a glance how the company was doing. Its current account showed a substantial drop on the previous month, and accounts receivable had also dropped. Only capital equipment had stayed the same, and Mersiha knew that was pretty much a hypothetical figure anyway. Who would want to buy second-hand manufacturing equipment if CRW couldn't sell its own products?

While the assets were considerably down, the company's liabilities continued to rise, and it clearly wouldn't be long before they crossed over and the firm had a negative worth. Mersiha felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She checked the financial projections every week or so, and the picture was getting steadily worse. She wished that there was something she could do to help her father, but she knew she was powerless. She was just a kid. She'd give anything to be rich, to be able to write her father a cheque big enough to solve all his problems. She hated to see her father unhappy, hated it with a vengeance.

She called up QUICKEN, the program her father used to follow his personal finances. He had three bank accounts, and she checked the balances in all of them, then she went through his credit card billings and household expenses. As usual the biggest purchases had been made by Katherine. Several pairs of shoes, a gold bracelet, lots of clothes. The company's financial problems hadn't persuaded her to cut back at all; she was still spending as if there were no tomorrow. Even so, there was plenty of money in the bank accounts, and the house was almost paid for. It was only the company that was in trouble. That, at least, was something.

Mersiha switched off the computer and the monitor and crept back upstairs to her bedroom. She lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, trying to work out what she could do to help.

# #

Mersiha was in the kitchen when the telephone rang. 'I'll get it!' she yelled, and picked up the receiver. It was Dr Brown. 'Oh, hiya, Dr Brown. What's up?' she said, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a carton of orange juice with her free hand.

'Hello, Mersiha? No school today?'

'Study period,' she said. 'The school doesn't mind if we do it at home. It's an honour system.'

'Well, make sure you study hard. Is your mother there?'

'Sure,' Mersiha said. She pressed the 'hold' button and put the receiver back on the wall. She filled a glass with orange juice and put the carton back in the refrigerator before walking through to the hall. 'Katherine! It's Dr Brown,' she called upstairs. {Catherine was in the bedroom, reorganising one of her many dress-filled closets.

'Okay, honey, I'll take it up here.'

Mersiha took a sip of orange juice and went back into the kitchen. Buffy scratched at the back door and Mersiha opened it for her. The dog sat there, her tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth, a chewed frisbee at her feet.

Mersiha bent down to pick up the plastic disc, and as she did she heard Katherine's voice over the phone's intercom. 'Hello?' Katherine said. Mersiha let the frisbee fall to the ground and went over to the phone to switch off the intercom.

'Katherine? It's me.'

'Hello, Art.'

'Can we talk?'

Mersiha froze, her finger just inches away from the button. Behind her, Buffy whined. Mersiha felt her stomach grow cold. They were going to talk about her, she was sure of it. She closed her eyes, fearing the embarrassment to come.

'I think so. Tony's still at the office.'

'Good. Katherine, I have to see you.'

'Now?'

Mersiha tensed. Whatever Dr Brown was concerned about, it must be serious.

'Can you get away?'

'Tony'll be here in an hour.'

'Please.'

'Tomorrow. What about tomorrow?'

'It's important. I need to see you now.' Mersiha opened her eyes. She'd never heard the psychiatrist talk this way before. He sounded like a small boy, pleading for attention. Her stomach grew colder and she clasped her arms around her chest as if trying to warm herself.

'Okay. I'll try.'

Mersiha heard the line go dead. She stared at the telephone. Buffy whined and pushed the frisbee with her nose. Mersiha wondered what Dr Brown was going to say to Katherine, and she had a sudden feeling of dread. Whatever it was, it couldn't have been good news. Bad news, she knew, always travelled fast. The telephone speaker began to make a buzzing sound. Mersiha switched it off. She heard {Catherine's high heels on the stairs and she rushed out of the back door.

Freeman turned his Chevrolet Lumina into the driveway and sounded his horn as he saw Mersiha at the far end of the garden. She waved half-heartedly and carried on playing with the dog. Freeman frowned. Usually Mersiha came running up to greet him and more often than not she'd carry his briefcase for him. He parked the car in front of the house and walked over to where she was sitting under a large willow. 'Hi, pumpkin, what's up?'

Mersiha shrugged. 'Nothing much.'

Buffy wandered over to Freeman and put her head up, asking to be stroked. Freeman patted her on the head, his eyes on Mersiha. 'Trouble at school?' he asked.

Mersiha shook her head. 'No, school's fine.' She kept her eyes averted as if unwilling to look him in the face. Freeman squatted down so that his head was almost level with hers.

'Anything I can do?' he asked. She looked up and Freeman could see tears in her eyes. 'What is it?' he said. He was suddenly seized with a feeling of panic. Mersiha never cried. Never. 'Is Katherine okay?'

Mersiha threw her arms around Freeman and hugged him tight. He could feel her hot breath against his neck. 'Don't ever leave me, please. Please don't leave me.'

Freeman squeezed her. 'I won't leave you, pumpkin.'

'No matter what?'

'Of course.' He untangled her arms from around his neck. 'Has something happened?'

She shook her head and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands. Freeman held out a handkerchief but she refused to take it. 'I'm okay,' she said. 'I just got a bit sad, that's all.'

Freeman put his hands on the girl's shoulders. She looked small and vulnerable and his heart went out to her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and protect her, to banish all her fears for ever. 'There's no need to be sad. Everything's all right now,' he said.

She nodded but Freeman could see that she wasn't convinced. 'Come on, let's go inside. Katherine's probably got dinner ready.'

Mersiha looked as if there was something else she wanted to say; there was a pleading in her eyes. Freeman realised with a jolt when he'd last seen the imploring look. It was when he'd found her in the camp, her head shaved, wearing rags. 'I don't want to go in yet. I'll come in soon. Okay?'

Freeman pinched her chin gently. 'Okay, pumpkin. I understand.' He stood up and went inside on his own. Katherine was chopping tomatoes. He put his briefcase on the kitchen table, went up behind her and hugged her. 'What's wrong with Mersiha?' he said.

'What do you mean?' Katherine asked, as she sliced the last tomato.

'She looked down in the dumps. Wouldn't tell me what was wrong.'

Katherine shrugged. 'She seemed happy enough an hour ago.' She picked up a large onion and began peeling it.

'No problems at school?' he asked.

'Not that I know of,' she said. 'Maybe she's having her period.'

Freeman grinned. 'That's a sexist remark, if ever I heard one,' he said.

'I wouldn't make fun of me while I've a knife in my hand,' Katherine said. 'Remember Fatal Attraction.'

'Okay, okay,' Freeman said, slipping his arms from around her waist and planting a kiss on the back of her neck. 'What's for dinner?'

'Pasta, with tomato and basil sauce.'

'Sounds great,' he said. 'Can you go easy with the garlic? I've got a meeting with our union officials tomorrow and it's going to be hard enough to get them to look me in the eyes as it is.'

'Sure.' She chopped the onions into tiny cubes and scraped them off the cutting board into a large pan on the stove. 'Can you look after the pasta? I'm going out for a while. Nordstrom's is having a sale in Towson. I'm meeting a few of the girls there.'

'Why don't you take Mersiha? Do a little mother-daughter bonding?'

Katherine shook her head. 'She's got homework to do.' She looked at her watch. 'I have to go.' She sniffed at the red sauce as it bubbled in the pan. 'Let this simmer for about fifteen minutes. The pasta's in the fridge, the instructions are on the packet.'

'We'll be fine,' Freeman said. 'You go, you don't want to keep the girls waiting.'

Katherine went upstairs to change. Freeman walked over to the kitchen window. Mersiha was still sitting under the willow tree. She appeared to be looking in his direction but when he waved there was no reaction. He checked the heat under the saucepan, noted the time on the stove timer, and went upstairs. Katherine was in the bathroom in bra and pants, stepping into a light blue dress. Freeman grabbed for her as she straightened up, slipping his hands around her full breasts and pushing himself against her. He nuzzled her neck. 'You smell good,' he said.

She tried to button up the front of the dress, but Freeman kept a hold of her. 'Come on, how about a quickie?' he asked, only half joking.

'Three reasons. I'm late, Mersiha's going to walk in at any moment, and you're sweaty.' She reached behind with both hands and rubbed them against his groin. He felt himself grow hard. 'Maybe later,' she said.

'How about a kiss?' he said. 'A consolation prize?'

Katherine twisted around and put her arms around his neck, the full length of her body pressing against him as she kissed him. He moaned as she slipped her tongue between his teeth and he tried to push her back, on to the bed.

She pulled her head back and tapped him on the nose with her index finger. 'Later,' she said. She stepped back and buttoned up her dress. 'You'd better keep an eye on that sauce.'

'Yeah, a man's place is in the kitchen,' he said.

He went back downstairs. The sauce was simmering nicely so he took his briefcase through into the study. He sat down at his desk and turned on his computer and monitor. He knew the figures in the financial spreadsheet by heart but he wanted to look at them again nonetheless, as if by going over them one last time he'd uncover a hidden cash reserve or profit centre. He slumped back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. Prepared phrases kept popping into his mind. Well placed for the economic upturn. A temporary profits reversal. Negative cash flow resulting in a cessation of dividend payments. The fancy language meant only one thing. The company was haemorrhaging money and would continue to do so for the foreseeable future. 'Shit,' he said, out loud.

Katherine appeared at the door. 'What's wrong?' she asked.

Freeman looked up. She was wearing full make-up and she'd brushed her hair until it shone. He knew how important it was for her to look good in front of her peers. Her friends were the bitchiest group of women he'd ever come across outside of a prime-time television show. They seemed to take a delight in ripping each other apart, like sharks turning on their own at the scent of blood. Freeman reckoned the reason they were always going out together was because they feared that if they weren't there they'd be the target of the scorn and derision. Better to turn up and be a part of the bitching than to be absent and be the butt of it. 'You look fabulous,' he said. He didn't want to THE BIRTHDAY GIRL 59 get dragged into a discussion about the company's worsening financial situation.