I knelt beside Cissy. “I think I like the blue one the best. Which one do you like?”

“The little babies,” she answered.

The children, I thought. “They are a very pretty blue.”

The door to Lindsey’s office opened again, and she and Barbara came down the hallway into the reception area. Barbara seemed less shaken.

“Let’s see if we can find a regular time for Cissy to come in,” Lindsey said.

The best we could do was Wednesday afternoons at four. I offered to give Cissy a ride from school and then home. Barbara protested, mentioning buses, but I insisted and she didn’t protest further. I knew Barbara didn’t really want Cissy on a bus, and that driving Cissy to and from her appointments was a way for me to keep directly involved.

A girl, maybe fifteen, came into the waiting room. She was by herself, no parent or guardian. She looked down at her shoes, away from us, as if ashamed of her aloneness in the face of three obviously connected strangers. I hoped, for her sake, that this was an aberration, that someone, someone who cared, would return for her.

“Thank you, Dr. McNeil,” Barbara said, and took Cissy’s hand.

Lindsey nodded to Barbara, then said, “I’ll be with you in a minute,” to the girl. She caught my eye for a moment, but beyond a direct acknowledgment of my being here, her look revealed nothing. She went back down the hallway to her office.

I followed Barbara and Cissy out the door. A bicycle was locked to the stair railing. The girl had ridden the bicycle here and she would ride it back in the dark when she was finished. I suddenly felt as if I lived in a savage world, where even small kindnesses are rare.

“Thanks for coming with us, Micky. I know it was boring for you,” Barbara said as she unlocked her car to let Cissy in first.

“No problem. I’m glad I could do something.” We walked to the driver’s side.

“If you should change your mind about taking Cissy…”

“I won’t.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She opened her door and got in.

I watched as she drove away. Only then did I get in my car. I glanced once more at the bicycle on my way out, then turned onto Prytania and headed for Karen’s Garden District home.

Her house was actually the least pretentious on the block, more of a summer cottage (a fancy one) than the opulent mansions that made this part of town famous. The house was a pale blue with shutters and trim a deep cobalt. A generous porch covered the front of the house. Perfect for sipping mint juleps on, I thought. The second story had a screened-in porch. I noticed several pieces of white wicker furniture up there.

I crossed the porch and rang Karen’s bell.

“Who is it?” Lucinda asked through the closed door.

“If you were watching this place properly, you’d know who it is.”

“Well, I knew you looked like Micky Knight,” she said as she opened the door. “And now I know you talk like Micky Knight. But are you really Micky Knight?”

“Who knows?” I said as I entered. “I certainly don’t.”

Lucinda did a quick scan of the street, then shut the door. “Spoken like the real Micky the K. It’ll have to do.”

“How’s it going?”

“Fine. Karen and Sara are having a grand time in the kitchen, playing French chef, including the language.”

I had expected to find Karen cowering in the corner, not palling around in the kitchen with Sara. Lucinda gave me her famous strange-things-happen shrug and led me to them.

“Micky, hi,” Karen said when she saw me, trying to rub flour off her nose, but only succeeding in getting more on it. Definitely not how I had pictured Karen.

“Bon soir, Michele,”Sara greeted me. “Comment ça va?”

Foreign language has never been my strong point. I had picked up some Spanish in high school and some German in college, but it was laborious, and I had never reached fluency. The older I got, the more I regretted it, but that didn’t mean I liked being reminded of my lack. Particularly by Karen, with her expense-paid summers in France with Mama.

If you can’t beat them at their own game, play another one. I switched from language to business. “Has Joey called? Anything happened?”

“No, nothing,” Sara answered.

“No, he hasn’t called,” Karen seconded her.

“Why don’t you and Luce bar the door and guard the way, while Karen and I finish here in the kitchen?” Sara suggested.

“Sara thinks we’ll make her soufflé fall.” Lucinda again shrugged and led the way out of the kitchen. I followed. Karen and Sara began prattling in French.

“Is that obnoxious, or am I just getting old?” I asked as we returned to the front room.

“Both.” Lucinda pulled the drapery back slightly and scanned the street. “How long do we wait?”

I glanced at my watch. It was seven thirty. “She’s supposed to meet him at eight. I guess until after dinner.”

“Sounds good to me.” Lucinda let go of the curtain and sat down. She picked up a book she had been reading, but every few minutes put it down again to glance down the street.

I alternated between pacing and sitting. At just before eight, Lucinda did rounds, going upstairs to check all the rooms, the same downstairs, and into the yard. She returned just in time for Karen’s announcement of dinner.

Sara and Karen had certainly amused themselves in the cooking arena. We started out with oysters Rockefeller; the main course was barbecued stuffed shrimp followed with bananas Foster for dessert. A few dirty looks from Lucinda and myself did get Sara and Karen to stop speaking their Parisian French.

I couldn’t help glancing at my watch. By eight thirty Joey must have realized that Karen was not going to show up. I wondered how much of this was game playing or if he really thought he could make Karen go to the West bank. My best guess was that he was just trying to see how far he could push us.

Nine o’clock came and went, and we cleared away the supper dishes.

At nine fifteen the phone rang. For a moment nobody did anything, as if the ringing phone demanded a momentous decision. Then Karen started to reach for it, but I stopped her and picked it up.

“Hello,” I said in a neutral voice, then for a brief moment wondered what I’d do if it turned out to be Cordelia. It wasn’t.

“Karen,” a man’s voice replied. I thought it was Joey, but I couldn’t be positive.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“Karen, darling, you’re late,” he mocked.

“I’m not Karen. Who is this?”

“You’re not?” His tone was still languid, unhurried as if he had plenty of time to play his game. “Who are you?”

“You’re wasting my time, Joey. What do you want?”

“Micky, is that you? Miss Micky Knight, little Karen’s favorite watchdog. Rowf rowf.”

I held my temper. He was trying to goad me, and I had to find out his limits without giving him mine. “You’re still wasting my time. What is it you want?”

“You know, what I really want is to watch you and Karen do it. I want to watch you go between her legs and lick…”

I held the phone away from my ear so I wouldn’t have to listen to his voice. Karen, when she understood what he was saying, started to make a sound, but I cut her off with a motion of my hand. I put the receiver down, muffling Joey’s spew, and then stood up and paced a few steps away. It was a game and timing was everything. Finally his voice stopped and he waited for my reply. And he waited.

I held another beat, then picked up the phone.

“Sorry, Joey, my tampon was bleeding over and I could feel blood running down my legs. I had to pull it out, it was covered with big, dripping clots. What were you saying?”

For a moment there was silence on his end, then he snarled, “What the fuck do you want, Knight?” His languid, unhurried tone was gone.

“A meeting at our time, on our territory.”

“Yeah? You’re at Karen’s. What the fuck’s gonna stop me from coming over there now? You think you’re that butch a chick?”

“No,” I said calmly. “That’s why I’ve got a couple of ex-Navy M.P.s here. They’d love to rip out a little white-boy throat like yours.”

“Fuckin’ cunt,” he muttered, just clear enough for me to hear. I let him get away with it. I’d won the battle and that was all that really mattered.

“We’ll meet at the Sans Pareil Club,” I said, looking at Karen to get her agreement.

“Soon,” Joey added.

“Tomorrow at eight,” I replied, again getting confirmation from Karen. “Joey? No games, no shit. You’ll gain very little by making me your enemy and you might lose a lot.”

Joey grunted what I hoped was compliance, then said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” The line went dead. I put the receiver down.

“You want Luce to stay, Mick?” Sara asked.

“No, it’ll be okay.”

“You sure?”

“I let him get away with calling me a cunt. That should salve his ego enough to keep him away from here.”

“If you need us, you call,” Lucinda said. “We’re working that new bar on Rampart tonight. Be there until four or five. Home after that.”

“Thanks, I will.”

“We’ll check the yard one more time, then be on our way,” Sara said as she and Lucinda put on their jackets and headed for the door.

I let them out, checking the street as I did. It was possible that Joey was calling from a pay phone a few blocks away. I watched as Sara and Lucinda disappeared around the side of the house, then waited at the front window until they reappeared and Lucinda flashed me an all-clear sign.

“You could go to a hotel,” I said, turning to Karen. “It might be safer.”

“Do you really think he’ll do anything?”

“No, I doubt it, but there is the chance.”

“I’d like to stay.”

I nodded. “You do have a burglar alarm, don’t you? Is it on?”

Karen showed me her alarm and how to work it. The rich havens of the Garden District are close by some less than gentle areas of the city. These upper crust houses tend to have the latest in security devices. Karen’s was no exception. If Joey really wanted to get in he could, but it wouldn’t be easy and it would be noisy. He didn’t seem the type who would do the grunt labor required. Joey was a bully and a show-off. He liked driving his Porsche and hanging out at the Sans Pareil Club.

“You can go to bed, if you want,” I told Karen after we’d finished making sure the house was secure. “I doubt we’ll see Joey until tomorrow night.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll stay up. I’d much rather overestimate him than underestimate him.”

“Can I fix you some coffee or anything? Espresso?”

“You would have an espresso machine.”

“And a cappuccino machine. My daddy gave them both to me on my twenty-first birthday.” She paused for a moment, then continued, “So that whenever he came to visit, I could make him cappuccino and espresso, because by that point he’d divorced his second wife and he didn’t have anyone to make it for him.”

I started to sympathize with Karen, but instead I rebelled. “No one gave me anything for my twenty-first birthday. I went out and got drunk by myself.” That wasn’t quite true, Danny had sent me a card and I didn’t end up alone, although I couldn’t recall the name of the woman I slept with that night.

“I’m sorry,” Karen said, adding ruefully, “Would you like an espresso or cappuccino machine?”

“No, no thanks. Maybe some coffee. Hold the machine.”

Karen went into the kitchen to make it. I looked out the front window, checking the street again. Nothing. A few minutes later Karen returned with my coffee, neatly arranged on a tray with sugar and milk.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Thanks, no. This is fine. Good night, Karen.”

“Good night, Micky.” She turned to go, then stopped and turned back. “Look, I’m sorry about those things Joey said. I…I saw the look on your face. I didn’t want…”

“It’s okay, Karen. He was trying to make us feel ugly and embarrassed.” Karen was wearing no makeup tonight, and the strain and worry of the last few hours had wiped off her veneer of assurance and sophistication. I had thought she was around my age, but now I realized she was in her mid-twenties. For a moment I did feel sorry for her. Poor little rich girl. All she had were the things money could buy. “Try to sleep,” I said gently. “Don’t let him get to you.”

“Okay. Thanks, Micky.” She headed up the stairs to bed.

I turned off the lights, leaving only one on in the small sitting room off the front room. I went back into the darkened front room and sat next to the window. From there, I could see out onto the street without being easily seen. I had brought my gun, although I don’t really like guns and would prefer to do without them. But if it came down to it, a gun was one thing that Joey would understand.

It was tedious watching the street. Particularly since the smart money was on Joey downing some Dixies at his local bar. I got up every once in a while and walked around, listening to the different sounds of the house, wind in the trees, the sighing of settling boards. I heard nothing beyond the ordinary whispers of the night.

In the early morning, with only the first hints of sunlight in the sky, I heard Karen come downstairs. She turned to go to the room with the light in it.

“I’m here,” I said, not wishing to startle her.

“I couldn’t sleep very well,” she said as she squinted to see me in the dim light.

“If Joey was going to do anything, he would have done it.”

“Aren’t you tired? Have you been up all night?”

“I’m used to it,” I replied. “You can go back to bed, if you want.”

“No, I’d just and toss and turn.”

“What are your plans for today?”

“My plans?”

“Yeah, where are you going, what are you doing? It might be better for you not to hang around here by yourself.”

“What am I doing today?” Karen repeated, running her hand through her hair. “Oh, I guess the usual, shopping in the morning, lunch with some friends, maybe the gym to workout or sit in the sauna, meet some people for drinks or dinner.”

“That’s how you usually spend your day?” I asked.

“It varies. Some days I don’t go shopping, some days I get my hair done.”

“I’m so glad you keep busy with such vital activities.”

“That’s not fair. You did ask.”

“Not fair? There are kids starving ten blocks away and you talk about not fair?”

“I don’t have to justify myself to you.”

“No, you don’t. But someday, Karen, you’re going to have justify yourself to yourself.”

“Easy for you to say, isn’t it? If I hadn’t taken a wrong turn to Queerville, I’d be married to some socially acceptable man by now. I’m the perfect wife—I cook, I smile, I dress well. Everything a man could want.”

“Yes, but what do you want?”

“What do I want?” Karen paused and looked out the window. “I don’t know. No one ever told me I could want something,” she said with a small, regretful smile.

It passed quickly, a moment of terror in her eyes. Risk and loss and pain were impossibly foreign to her. But Karen would have to find her own way. Or not. I changed the subject.

“I’ll wait around until you’re ready to go out, then I’m going home to sleep.”

Karen went back upstairs to shower and dress. When she came down again, I told her to wait while I made one last check around the house.

“I’ll see you tonight?” Karen asked as she got into her car.

“Yes, you’ll see me. Call if anything suspicious happens.”

I watched as she drove away, making sure no one followed her. I took my last look at Karen’s elegant and expensive house, picture perfect. It looked as if it was waiting for someone to live in it. I got into my car and drove home.

Chapter 15

Before I went to sleep, I phoned Cordelia. I called the clinic because I knew my chance of actually reaching her during the busy morning hours was slight.

“Hi, Micky, how are you?” she said when she came on the line.

“Uh, fine,” I stammered out. “Well, actually tired. I’ve been working all night.”

“Nothing dangerous, I hope.”

“No, just routine,” I lied. Then there was a pause. I had called her, so I filled it. “Anyway, I’m just calling to tell you I’ll also be working tonight.”

“Oh, okay. How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Do you want to get together?”

“Well…yeah, sure,” I answered. Tomorrow was Saturday, I remembered. “But I don’t want to go jogging. I’ll probably crash during the day.”

“That’s okay. How about the evening? Maybe dinner?”

“Uh, yeah, something like that. I guess meet at your place?”

“Seven o’clock?”

I mumbled an affirmative.

“I’ll see you then.” I could hear several people talking in the background and a baby screaming from a not very far distance. Busy was reclaiming Cordelia.

I both wanted and didn’t want to see Cordelia. It was only after she confirmed her desire to be with me, that I realized how afraid I had been that she might be reluctant or ambivalent about it. And, although I still had a voice somewhere in my head saying, “Get out now, before you really get hurt,” I was happy and relieved that we were getting together tomorrow night.

I turned down my phone, closed the shades, and went to bed.

I awoke around four in the afternoon. It took me a few minutes to orient myself to the late hour of the day. I was meeting Karen at her place around seven. After a leisurely shower, I made a pot of coffee and drank a few cups to wake myself up. I didn’t start dressing until a little after six. I still had Torbin’s black dress that I had used last time. It would do, I wasn’t trying to impress anyone with my varied wardrobe.

The same could not be said for Karen. I arrived at her house to find her wearing an expensive black suit of raw silk. She could smile and she could dress.

Several of her friends were over, having drinks on the veranda. Karen introduced me, but I didn’t pay much attention because these weren’t people I wanted to know. A closeted doctor, some closeted lawyers, well dressed, proud of themselves for their comfortable lives. While Karen finished powdering her nose, I listened to a man who owned a business explain why he couldn’t come out to his employees.

Karen returned, her nose looking no different. Her friends gulped down the remains of their drinks as they prepared to head off to other parties and other drinks. Then the vultures flew away, and Karen and I headed uptown to the Sans Pareil Club.

“Nice bunch of friends you have there,” I commented.

“You think so?” Karen continued, “They’re not friends. They’re the kind of people money can buy. I thought I’d purchase a few so I wouldn’t have to be by myself today.”