When the Women Come out to Dance (2002) (2 page)

"Who?"

"The girlfriend."

"That was over before it went anywhere. I see my ex-wif
e now and then, we go out to dinner. Sometimes she doe s jobs for me. Chris's a photographer." He picked up th e raging-fire shots from the coffee table. "She took these. Chri s takes long-lens shots of people walking around who clai m they can't walk. A guy shooting hoops in the backyard who'
s supposed to be in a wheelchair. Insurance fraud situations, al l kinds, including arson," Canavan said, bringing it back t o Robin.

No reaction. Ducked that one like she didn't even hear it
, saying, "You go to bed with her?"

"What's between Chris and me," Canavan said, "stays between us. Okay?"

"That means you do," Robin said. "You keep Chris fo
r backup, right? Call her when you haven't scored in a while."

Robin pushed up from the sofa with her empty glass. Yo
u ready? One more--I have to go out tonight."

Her husband dies and three months later fir
e destroys the house. Canavan wondered if there was a connection. He had no reason to believe there was; still, he didn't rule it out. He watched Robin sipping her martini. The onl y apparent effect the gin had on her, she spoke in a quieter voic e and stared at him. Canavan could feel a buzz; combined wit h the weed it allowed him to stare back at Robin, time suspended, and ask her whatever he felt like asking. "When you got married, did you have to sign a prenuptia l agreement?"

She said, "Don't worry about it."

So he tried another tack. "How'd you and Sid meet?"

"He saw me perform and we talked after. He asked me out.

He knew who I was. But basically, Joe, we got together th
e way people usually do, and fell in love."

"He was a lot older than you."

"What you're asking now, did I marry him for his money.

Sure, that had a lot to do with it, but I liked him. Sid was ful
l of energy, played tennis--he'd sit down and cross his leg s you'd see his foot going a mile a minute. You want to kno w how he was in bed? Not bad, though we had to get almos t perpendicular--you know what I mean?--to do it."

"Wasn't he kind of heavy?"

"That's what I'm talking about. But then toward the en
d he lost a lot of weight, like thirty pounds. No, Sid was tender , very gentle, till Viagra came along and he turned into Attil a the fucking Hun. If you can picture that."

"I thought he had a heart condition."

"It wasn't serious. He took something for it. His bloo
d pressure was a little high."

"And his doctor let him have Viagra?"

"Sid got it over the Internet."

"But he must've known the combination was dangerous
, Viagra and heart medication?"

She said, "Joe, Sid was a shooter. He didn't get where h
e was being cautious. It helped he was a genius."

"You were happily married."

"Yeah, very."

"But you fooled around a little."

"Once in a while I'd find myself in a situation. You know
, but it was never serious. Like you and the chick from the insurance company." She sipped her drink and then finished it. "I'll tell you the truth, Joe, I miss him. Sid was good t o me." She got up with her empty glass saying, "You're ready , aren't you?"

"I thought you were going out."

"I changed my mind."

Watching her cross to the bar he said, "Tell me something," and watched her looking in the mirror, staring at her image, her pale skin tan in the tinted glass.

"What do you want to know?"

"Why you burned your house down."

Robin didn't answer until she was coming bac
k with the martinis, her raccoon eyes in the dark liner holdin g on Canavan.

"Why would I?"

"That's what I'd like to know."

She gave him his drink and placed a hand on his shoulde
r as she edged past the coffee table and sat down again.

"You tell me," Canavan said, "you'd have nothing to gain
, you were gonna sell the house. Now you don't have it to sell , but you get two and a half million when they pay the claim , plus the value of the contents."

"I could've sold the house for more, easy." Robin sipped he
r drink and said, "But what if . . . This is hypothetical, okay? What if a person does actually burn down her house? Sh e owns the property, she can rebuild if she wants. She migh t even tell the insurance company to forget the claim."

"They'd want to know why."

"Because they piss her off acting so suspicious, draggin
g their feet, sending out adjusters and investigators instead o f paying the claim. She's above dealing with people with smal l minds."

This was one Canavan hadn't heard before. He said, "Tel
l me how she starts the fire."

"She rolls up the Wall Street Journal and lights it with
a match. The point I'm making, Joe . . ."

"She starts the fire inside the house or outside?"

"Inside. The point I'm making, they can pay the claim o
r not. If they choose to, fine. If they don't, who's out anything?"

"She's already out the Mediterranean villa."

"And doesn't care."

"What makes it Mediterranean, looking down at the Pacific Ocean?"

"Tile roof, big oval windows and doors. The outside wasn'
t bad, even though pink's not one of her favorite colors. It's th e inside of the house she can't stand. The decor throughout, th e furniture, the art, floor to ceiling everything's Chinese. An d she doesn't even like Chinese food. Listen, I can roll u s another one if you want."

"Not for me."

"It's local, Malibu Gold, but pretty good, huh?"

Canavan said, "Yeah, great," and asked Robin, "Wh
y didn't this hypothetical woman change the decor?"

"Her husband loved it. He knew what everything was an
d where it came from. It was like a culture thing with him. H
e becomes an expert on something besides picking hits. Incidentally, not one of the artists he represented ever made a record that stiffed."

"He bought all the Chinese stuff?"

"His previous wife, the second one. They redecorated completely after a trip to China."

Canavan said, "You couldn't . . ." caught himself and said
, "She couldn't get used to it?"

"Joe, it was like living in a fucking pagoda. Jade figurines
, Tang horses and tomb figures, that honey-colored huanghal i furniture, blue-and-white Ming garnitures, they're vases , Ming kesi panels on the walls, ink paintings, opium beds , snuff bottles, ivory carvings, coromandel screens, Quing dynasty court rugs . . ."

"She could've sold it."

"Cloisonne enamel incense burners, Sung dynasty Buddhas. Five years," Robin said, "she lives with all this Chinese shit cluttering up the house. Big, heavy pieces, the tomb figures almost lifesize. Five years, Joe. She begs her husband, 'Please, can't we try something else?' No. 'A Mediterranea n house, why don't we do it Mediterranean?' No. Not 'No, and I d on't want to hear any more about it.' Her husband was a coo l guy for his age, never raised his voice. But, really, it was al l she thought about. She'd smoke a jay and scheme. Like hire a burglar; he takes it out a piece at a time. Or have it done all a t once while they're in Cabo, or Maui."

"Once her husband's gone," Canavan said, "why didn't sh
e get an auction house in and sell it?"

"She felt it would be disloyal to his memory and it would be on her conscience."

Canavan thought that was interesting. "But it's okay i
f something happens to it."

"Yeah, like an act of God."

"Or a fire, in an area known for its fires. You know who yo
u remind me of?"

"Linda Fiorentino."

"You look just like her."

"I know."

"That movie where she goes in the bar . . . ?"

"The Last Seduction. She wants a Manhattan and the bartender won't look at her. So she goes, 'Who does a girl have to suck around here to get a drink?' "

That was it. Not who do you have to blow.

"But as I was saying, when you come right down to it, Joe
, who's out? Who's hurt? Who gives a shit outside of this person who owns the house?"

"I'll tell you who," Canavan said, "if you really want t
o know. The law. Arson's a second-degree felony. A convictio n can get you two to twenty years. There's a death as a result, i t goes up to five to ninety-nine."

Her reaction: "For Christ sake, Joe, come on. You want t
o put me in jail?"

"I'm not the law. All I'm supposed to do is let 'em kno
w when I see a crime's been committed."

She said, "Joe, come on, you're not a snitch. I can tel
l you're a very practical guy. How much you want?"

Like that, ready to pay him off.

He said, "What's your best offer? So we don't waste time."

"How about fifty grand?"

"You can do better'n that."

"A hundred?"

He said, "Mrs. Harris," and paused. "You mind if I call yo
u Robin?"

Sounding formal now, and he could see she didn't kno
w what to expect, hesitating before she said, "Sure, why not," i n a kind of vague tone of voice, her mind looking ahead.

He said, "Robin, you've talked to a lot of people. Fire, la
w enforcement, insurance company stooges . . . One of 'em eve n brought a dog out to sniff around. But no one's accused you o f burning your house down, have they?"

She shook her head and brushed that soft, dark hair awa
y from her face.

"You drive up to the house, the sky's full of smoke. You'v
e already seen houses burning on the TV news, and they'r e right over in the next canyon, not half a mile away. You'r e thinking, Damn it, why can't my house catch on fire?"

She was nodding, staring at him with a thoughtful expression, following every word.

"You go inside and stand there surrounded by all this oriental stuff you hate."

"You don't say oriental, you say Asian."

"Either way, you hate it. You stand there looking at all tha
t lacquered stuff, Buddhas and dragons, and you light a joint."

He watched her raise her eyebrows.

"The joint is to take the edge off, calm you down. But no
w you look at the match in your hand. It goes out and you ligh t another match and look at the flame."

She was nodding again, staying with him.

"All that smoke, and remembering what you saw on the news, you're convinced sooner or later your house will catc h fire."

"I was, I was sure of it."

"You're about to lose part of your life, and there's nothin
g you can do but stand back and watch. Five years up i n smoke."

Robin waited.

"What you do then is part acceptance and part a farewel
l gesture to the years you spent here with Sid."

"Yeah . . . ?"

"You light the Wall Street Journal. "

He watched her nodding her head, thoughtful now. Sh
e looked up at him and said, "You're not putting that in you r report, are you?"

Canavan shook his head. "I have no evidence to prove it, o
r disprove what you said. The house was burning when you go t here."

"What about the lady fire warden?"

"Mrs. Montaigne? She must've been mistaken."

Robin paused and said, "How do I pay you the hundre
d thousand?"

"You don't," Canavan said, getting up from the sofa. "I wa
s playing with you, that's all. Seeing what I could score if I di d that sort of thing. You should hear some of the offers I get, I c ome across a fraud situation and I can prove it. Some bozo i n a neck brace looking for a million bucks, says he'll split i t with me."

"You turn them in?"

"If they're pros, like the ones that stage car accidents an
d people are injured. Or if they get ugly about it. Otherwise I t ell 'em, forget the claim and don't try it again."

"You're not turning me in?"

"I told you, I believe your story."

"So what should I do?"

"If I were you?" Canavan said. "I'd keep after the insuranc
e company. Make 'em pay." He turned to leave, saying, "It wa s nice talking to you, Robin."

And saw her raccoon eyes staring at him.

"You can't stay a while, Joe?"

If he didn't stay, he could always come back.

*

*

HANGING OUT AT THE BUENA VISTA.