Love Hurts

I’ve never really gone for any one type of guy. Uptight Wasps, short Jewish intellectuals, brooding tortured romantics—I’ve screwed them all. I think the reason why I fell so in love with Alex was because he threw me offbalance by not fitting into any type. He drew on multiple facets (and possibly personalities). Max also had a quality I’d rarely seen in a man before: limitless patience—along with uncommon good looks. The only thing Max and Alex seemed to have in common was my attraction to them, and theirs to me.

When I saw Leeza walk up to our table, I realized that Max and Alex shared something else. Namely, their attraction to Leeza. She seemed as shocked as I was, staring numbly at Max with her mouth open. Max kicked me under the table. I kicked him back harder. He flashed me a warning smile and whispered, “Easy, Wanda.”

“I can tell by your expressions that you’re as struck by Leeza’s beauty as I was when I first laid eyes on her this afternoon,” Alex shared. “She’s radiant. A shining light, beaming across the aerobics room and into my heart.” It was hard for me to recall Alex ever waxing so poetically over my radiant beauty. I did get a few, “Ain’t she cute?” to strangers on the street. I stared at him. Then her. I wasn’t quite sure where to vent my spleen short of a hospital.

I knocked my chair back as I stood. “These are my men, Leeza,” I announced loudly. So much for not making a scene. Max and Alex acted surprised to learn this. “And keep your grubby hands off them,” I added.

Alex asked, “Why on earth would Leeza put her delicate, flowerlike hands on Max?” He said Max like a curse.

“Are you saying that Max isn’t good enough for the flower’s attention?” I asked.

Alex glared at me. “Well, maybe I am.”

I retorted, “Once again, you know not from whence you talk out your asshole.”

“The hell,” he answered.

Alex and I began to circle each other like rams. Max sat patiently and watched. Seconds before we came to blows, Leeza squeaked, “Remember how I said I came to New York to see an old boyfriend? Well, heh, Max is the guy.”

Alex froze midcircle. “About fucking time,” I complained and drew up my chair to sit down, the legs screeching across the floor.

Max kicked me under the table again. I turned toward him. He whispered, “If you still want Alex, you can have him.” He then folded his arms across his chest and looked away.

He’d totally missed the point. I’d been defending his vanity. I said to Leeza, “Don’t worry—Alex has really cut down on his compulsive handwashing.”

Leeza brushed hair off Alex’s glowing red face. A strand of her bouncing blond hair spilled across her collarbone. She said, “Max and I dated for a while when I lived in Washington.” She bit her pink lip. “It was years ago, Alex.”

Alex considered this. “I don’t think I’ll be able to accept this tonight, but in time, I should recover from the shock and even find the humor in it.”

“You’ll be way ahead of me,” I said. I already saw the humor in it, but I still might not recover. The fact that I’d slept with both of the most important men in my life (at different times, that is) wasn’t always convenient. And if Leeza played her cards, oh, just about any old way later that night, she’d add Alex’s notch to her hosebag. It was like having secondhand sex with Leeza. If Max and Alex did it, then the circle would be complete. I decided not to suggest it.

“The waitress should be here any second,” Max said, obviously uncomfortable. He caught my eye. “Female waiter. Just waiter, Christ.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have dinner together,” I suggested. I went the spiteful and immature route.

“If you’ve got a problem with me, Wanda, then say so,” Leeza challenged. Max waved his arm to beckon the Ukrainian teenager.

I laughed. “I’ve got a problem with your kissing my boyfriend on the Promenade, with your dislocating my shoulder, with your blowing my best friend—and ex-lover—in the aerobics studio. And I also hate women with perfect bodies as a rule.”

Alex was aghast. “She was not in the aerobics studio.”

“Can you please try to get along? Wanda? Leeza?” Max asked the ceiling. That’s where he was looking, anyway.

“Take your lesbian fantasy and shove it.” That was me.

“God, you’re being entirely unreasonable,” protested Max.

“She can’t help it,” said Alex.

“She can learn to,” countered Max.

“If someone doesn’t start paying attention to me now, I’m leaving.” That was Leeza. Alex immediately turned toward her and started stroking her arm. She stared at me the whole time with a slow smile on her face. She sure knew how to be a bitch. I like that in a woman, if I didn’t hate her already.

Max finally flagged down the waiter and she gave Leeza and Alex menus. They read. I watched them examine the food choices and wondered how either of them would eat. For the hell of it, I kicked Max under the table. He looked up angrily, then smiled when he saw me kiss the air at him.

Alex and Leeza ordered a chicken cutlet platter with mashed potatoes and a green salad respectively. Max popped the last bite of his stuffed peppers into his mouth. I watched. He had a nice chew.

I said, “I’d like to say that Alex and I have no lingering romantic feelings for each other, and that he was a wonderful boyfriend, except for the fear of commitment problem. Not that you’d care.”

Leeza smiled. “You’ll have to excuse me if I seem tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” She turned to Max. “You didn’t get much sleep either. You must be exhausted.” She gave him a secret smile. I was now certain nothing happened between them.

“I am exhausted,” Max said, clearly irritated by her.

“Wanda.” Leeza turned toward me, her long neck in a graceful stretch. “Alex tells me you’re making progress investigating the murder at the club.”

I glared at Alex. “Another thing about Alex. He’s a pathological liar. But don’t you worry. He only lies about important things.”

Leeza bowed her blond head. She seemed perplexed and upset. Alex watched her in apparent amazement. He said, “Your hair is like a sunshine waterfall.” I gagged inside.

Leeza seemed appropriately embarrassed, especially in front of a hostile stranger and her ex-boyfriend. All the bitchy spunk she could muster couldn’t hide her loneliness. She must hate the fact that I would be hanging around her new job. And her new boyfriend. Tough, I reminded myself. Murder is intrusive business.

“So tell us about your day as an aerobics instructor, Leeza,” I spurred. “I’m fascinated by jumping up and down.” I realized after I said it that I’d sure lobbed an easy one out there.

Alex didn’t take the bait. “I’m sure Leeza had a physically challenging day—which isn’t intellectual, but neither is visiting a client in jail.”

Max defended me. “For your information, Alex, Wanda had a physical day, if you know what I mean.” Alex responded, “So did Leeza, if you know what I mean.” They squared off in their chairs, eyes locked. We all knew what both of them meant. I hadn’t seen Max and Alex spar like this in quite a while. I wondered if it was for Leeza’s benefit or mine. Their food arrived. I ordered tea.

I didn’t want the night to be a complete ruin. I said, “Despite what you may have heard, Leeza, I am capable of overlooking people’s faults to benefit a common good. The idea of you working on this case is growing on me”—like a fungus—“and I’m still at the information gathering stage at this point. Did you meet a guy named Freddie Smith at the club today?” I asked Alex, too. Leeza joined him in shaking her head. “About thirty-five. Mediterranean skin. Chubby. Goatee with sideburns. Bubbly butt. Meaty hands, soft skin.” Max raised his eyebrows at that.

Leeza paused between munches on lettuce. She searched my eyes. I tried to hide my true feelings, but my emotions are as opaque as lead. She seemed to make some mental decision—to be nice and try to have a pleasant dinner, I supposed. She had manners which I hate. She said, “Freddie Smith? No bells. But I did meet a lot of people. Including the head aerobics instructor—Janey Johnson. She gave me a tour of the place when I got in after my morning at the convention. That’s when I met Alex. During my tour of the weight room.”

“And you were impressed with his bulging muscles?” I asked.

“Leeza, tell Wanda what Janey told you,” Alex said with a drop of the mashed potatoes on his chin. I pointed. He brushed.

I held up my hand. “I want to hear about the bulging muscles.”

Leeza laughed prettily at Alex’s expense. “I was taking the tour,” Leeza continued. “Just as Janey and I were walking past Alex on the bench press, he started to call out for help. He’d put too much weight on the bar. I spotted him, and one look at his struggling, twitching face was enough.”

“And how much weight was that?” asked Max. He could bench press three hundred.

“Forget it,” Alex protested. “Tell Wanda about the old man.”

“One hundred twenty pounds, was it?” Leeza asked. She then kissed him on the cheek, which had turned maroon. “Strong muscles don’t mean you have a big heart.”

“How much was this old man lifting?”

Leeza flung an errant strand of her blond hair over her shoulder. The movement sent a whiff of her scent up my nostrils: Obsession. “He wasn’t from the weight room. I met him later in the day. After the tour, Janey just mentioned to me that a nice gray-haired old man—must have been around seventy-five—would probably proposition me. He might even offer me money. She said he hits on all the new aerobics instructors.”

I let Leeza take a bite of radish. “And you thought it’d be a challenge to fight him off?” I asked, not getting the point. Alex finished eating. He dipped his napkin in his water glass and cleaned his hands and mouth with it, a habit that always annoyed me.

Leeza said, “He came to my first class of the afternoon. He’s in pretty good shape for a man his age—he couldn’t jump much, but he tried hard. After the warm-up, he walked over to me and whispered, ‘Meet you in the laundry room after class.’ Then he poked me in the ribs and winked.”

“The laundry room?” That was Max.

“On the spa level, behind the locker rooms,” said Alex.

Leeza confessed, “I thought nothing of it because Janey said to ignore him.”

“But I took it seriously because I’m a trained detective,” crowed Alex. Leeza beamed at him. My gut lurched. “I staked it out for a couple hours after Leeza told me this story.”

“You learn anything?” I asked dismissively.

“Yeah? What did you learn today, Wanda? How to pass out on a stoop?” Alex asked.

“Your hostility is a mask for your insecurity,” I shared. “And, for your information, I learned how to pass out on a stoop years ago.”

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Alex said, “I followed this septuagenarian gentleman to the locker rooms after the class. We showered in adjacent stalls. Had a sauna at the same time. Dressed next to each other in the locker room.”

“And he kept telling you to stop following him,” I mocked.

“I was establishing a relationship,” Alex defended himself. “And we talked. About the weather. About the price of real estate—and I must say that you guys have gotten yourselves quite a deal for Brooklyn Heights.” I smiled smugly. Indeed we had. Our floor-through one-bedroom, with a tiny office alcove, costs only nine hundred a month. I realize that in Podunk, people pay as little as three hundred a month for a whole house, but we’re talking New York City here.

Alex continued, “His name is Eric Van Owen. He’s seventy-nine, but looks not a day over seventy-eight. A very forthcoming man. After five minutes in the sauna he told me about his unflagging sex drive and how this club is really the place to come for men who are looking for a certain kind of workout. I took that to mean exercise of a sexual kind. I knew this from all this incessant winking and poking.”

“He’s got a mean poke,” Leeza said, nodding.

“If I wasn’t so tough and rugged, I’d probably have a bruise,” Alex said puzzlingly.

I made a puke sound. That got everyone’s attention, including our waiter who was busy getting rid of the plates. “Heimlich maneuver,” she screamed with a heavy Ukrainian accent.

She tried to grab me around the middle. I said, “If you lay so much as one finger on my battered ribs, I’m going to suck your brains out through your nose with this straw.” I held the straw up so she could see it. Her face turned as white as the Ukrainian winter and then she bolted, leaving some dishes and the check in her wake.

No one was quick to pick up the bill. I prompted Alex, “Just stick to what Van Owen said. Spare us the insight about your skin.”

Alex nodded. He knew better than to argue after I’ve almost been touched by a stranger. “Van Owen said that the aerobics instructors were all very friendly at the club. I told him it was my first day and that I had found the one instructor I’d met—Leeza—to be a very kind and understanding woman indeed. The kind of woman I’d like to be my girlfriend.” Afraid to make the puke sound again—I rolled my eyes as loudly as I could.

“After I said the girlfriend comment,” Alex continued, “Van Owen laughed. He said he didn’t think a nice boy like me would want any of the club’s instructors as a girlfriend. He said they weren’t exactly the type you could take home to mother. He went on to say that his mother had been dead for years, and that after three failed marriages, he’s not interested in taking anyone home at all. He was interested in feeling young, staying in good health and in good shape. He poked me again in the ribs when he said that.”

“This Eric Van Owen is basically saying that he regularly hits on the club’s aerobics instructors to some success,” I said. “That’s what Janey said he’d try to do to Leeza. So what’s the big shock here?”

Leeza jumped in. “I kept telling Alex I didn’t think there was much to it. But if anything bothered me, it was the way he assumed I’d show up in this laundry room.”

“Where Van Owen waited for an hour before he left, grumbling.” That was Alex. “At first, I thought that he was just a little off his rocker to assume Leeza would actually show. I found it even more curious that this sixteen-year-old towel boy was also staking out the laundry room—I saw him hiding in the linen closet.”

“Did he have an acne problem?” I asked, assuming that the kid who peeped on me was also peeping on Van Owen, or the promise of an impending date with an aerobics instructor.

“Not sure. I couldn’t see him that well. The whole thing was like waiting for a shoe to drop. And then it occurred to me: Maybe Van Owen thought it was part of Leeza’s job to meet him in the laundry room. He acted like he had it coming to him, for more reasons than his dashing good looks and sparkling personality.”

“Like what?” asked Max. “He got no encouragement from Leeza. I’ve never seen anything suspicious in the laundry room.”

“You hang out there, too?” I asked him. “This laundry room gets a lot of traffic.” I turned to Alex. “What next? The line formed at the water fountain, waiting for a bevy of sweaty aerobics instructors to come along and offer blow-jobs as part of the cross-training circuit?”

“Is that so impossible to believe?” asked Alex. “Completely,” Max protested.

I considered this. Janey Johnson seemed like a crafty wench. “I’ll ask Ameleth Bergen about it tomorrow.”

I didn’t want to fill Alex in on all my activities— partially because other people were around (namely, Leeza) and partially because I was pissed off he was being such an ass. I thought about Jack. He was probably bouncing off the Detention Center walls by now. And Ameleth—hardly the grieving wife—had a ruthlessness about her. I liked that in a woman, too. “Yes, Ameleth and I are as tight as I am.” Which is to say, pretty tight.

“Good,” said Alex. “Here’s the plan. I want you to get access, through Ameleth, of the membership billing computer files. I’ll go through them and see what I can see.” Alex was something of a computer geek. He wished he was more of one. The city was loaded (no pun intended) with wannabe geeks. I feared for the future of dating.

“And what might a computer break-in turn up?” I asked.

“I really don’t know,” Alex said snippily. “But perhaps we’ll find out that Eric Van Owen is paying more dues than he should be, for services that aren’t included on the brochure.”

Max said, “Sex with aerobics instructors is in the brochure.” He smiled.

I laughed—he was so cute when he was trying to be funny. To Alex, I said, “Better yet, why don’t we ask Leeza here to keep a date with Van Owen in the laundry room and find out what will happen? He’s an old geezer for Christ’s sake. Surely,” I turned to Leeza, “you could handle him.”

“I think that’s a dangerous position to put Leeza in,” countered Alex.

“Then why don’t you dress up in Lycra, and go meet Van Owen in the laundry room,” I suggested. “He already knows me,” countered Alex.

“You’re a slut,” I said.

“And you—a whore,” he said. We laughed. Max and Leeza looked at each other in bewilderment. I stopped laughing.

“I’ll get you inside Ameleth’s office,” I said. “She’s got a computer on her desk. A PowerBook. I’ll keep her away and you can hack until your fingers fall off.” Jack still had his key to the suite. I’d have to get it from Falcone. That should be a challenge.

“I want to rendezvous with Van Owen,” whined Leeza. “I want to help.” Her eyebrows tilted upward. It was obvious Leeza needed something to do. She wanted to make some kind of connection, to feel like a part of a team. The Western Athletic Club softball game must have filled up already. Her loneliness made me feel sorry for her.

But not that sorry. I said, “Forget it. You’re like a tall glass of milk, Leeza. We need a shot of tequila.”

“I’m begging, Wanda.” Her blue eyes were really something by diner light. Okay, I decided.

“You want in, you’re in. But one man’s dead. Someone out there would probably kill again to keep from getting caught. We don’t know who it is. For all we know, it’s Van Owen himself.”

She seemed to consider my warning, but said, “I’m fine with danger.”

Max shook his head. “I’d rather you didn’t, Leeza.”

“You’re the one who suggested it last night,” I reminded him.

“That’s because I knew you’d never go for it.”

“It’s unsafe for her, but just fine for me?” I asked.

“Wanda, it’s totally different,” Max protested.

“If Leeza got stabbed, it’d be worse than if I got stabbed?” I asked.

“In a way, yes.” Max took a sip of water. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “I’m not responsible for getting you involved in this business. But if Leeza got hurt, it’d be because of me.”

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?”

Leeza and Alex’s chairs scraped on the floor as they pulled away from the table. “We’ll be going now,” said Alex. He threw a ten on the table (not nearly enough to cover them, cheap bastard) and they left. I guess they were going to his place in the East Village. I turned back to Max. He was removing a twenty from his wallet.

“Wanda,” he said as he dropped the money on the table. “I’m not in love with Leeza. One of the reasons why is because she could never handle what you’re asking of her. She’s not a strong person. And she’ll get hurt. That isn’t fair, and I don’t think you should be so eager to put her in that position. It seems to me that you wouldn’t mind if Leeza got hurt because that would probably get her out of my life and out of Alex’s life, too. And that scares me about you.” He had a point there. I didn’t have a snappy comeback for an astute, negative observation of my character.

“Let’s just go,” he said and we split like a divorce.

I wasn’t sure if I should be pissed off. On the one hand, I appreciated Max’s respect for my abilities. On the other hand, how dare he act so nonchalantly about the possibility of my getting killed? Detecting was a dangerous business. I was, therefore, a dangerous woman. And did he care? Only when it came time to whip out a set of handcuffs for recreational purposes. On the other hand, if I got shot, he’d be alone. The specter of that should be so painful that Max might as well move to the Bottomless Pit of Denial. Santina, my surrogate mother over in Park Slope, told me that I should take it as a given that Max would prefer I wasn’t a shamus. She said that he hasn’t told me to quit out of respect. But I think that if he truly loved me, he’d tell me what he really wanted.

On the four-block walk home, I wondered if I should act apologetic or depressed. I went with accusatory. “The least you could do is wait up nights, frantic, sweating. Praying that I’ll come home alive, or at least in big enough pieces.”

Half of me hoped he’d say, “Big enough for what?” But instead he said nothing. Mr. Burpe wasn’t on the stoop that late. I said, “Burpe managed to crawl back into his cave.” An attempt at conversation, small-talky though it may have been.

He fit the key into our front door. “I do wait up nights, Wanda,” he said. “I waited up last night.”

“But not alone.” I smirked. “You had company.” Max pushed the front door open and we walked up the stairs. “'You’re really beginning to irritate me,” he said. The clunking of our shoes echoed in the hall. Otherwise, the building seemed quieter than usual. The octogenarian upstairs usually rattled around until midnight. I felt a prickle on the back of my neck. Something wasn’t right here. And I didn’t mean my relationship.

“Did you realize that you were talking down to me throughout dinner?” Max asked. “I don’t need that. Especially around Alex.” He unlocked our apartment door and pushed it open with a meaty fist.

Syd, Max’s bathtub-dwelling tabby, raced past us into the hall. She’s never even poked her nose outside the bathroom before. She cowered in the hallway, completely terrorized. Someone was inside. I felt a presence as cleanly as a shower. I reached into my purse for Mama. With the other hand, I pushed Max against the wall outside. I whispered for him to keep quiet. Then loudly, I said, “Shit, honey. I forgot to get tampons.” They were the only things I could think of that someone in need could not live without for one minute. “Walk to the store with me,” I said.

Recognition clicked behind his pretty green eyes. “Sure,” he said, a little too loudly. “Let’s go to the store.”

“Leave Syd in the hall,” I said, and pointed for Max to walk down the stairs. I followed him. We made a loud show by thumping our feet on the steps. We opened the front door and slammed it shut.

Once outside, I whispered to Max to walk to the corner deli and wait for me there.

Max whispered back, “The hell I will. I’m going right back up there and taking care of this. You, honey, are walking to the pay phone on the corner and calling the cops.”

A voice out the stoop level window called, “I’m calling the cops if you don’t shut up!” It was the croak of Mrs. Burpe. I flipped her the bird.

I whispered back, “I’m the one with the gun here, buddy. I’m the trained professional. My cat might be decapitated in there, for all we know. You will walk to the corner and let me handle this.” I started toward the door, gun in hand.

A voice from the second floor window (ours) said, “I’ve heard softer whispers at the Grand Canyon.”

We looked up. Leaning out our bedroom window was the man I knew as Freddie Smith. He’d seen me naked. “I’m sorry if I scared you,” he called down. “You told me to call you. The old lady who lives above you let me in.” To Max, Freddie said, “I’m not a crazed rapist or anything. I just need to talk to Wanda.”

“Then talk inside!” croaked the stoop window.

We went inside. Max grumbled all the way. He reminded me that he needed some sleep to succeed in the rough and tumble world of big banking. He said it with enough irony to be charming, but his annoyance was clear. If he didn’t like the consequences of my work, he could just go to the next corporate Christmas party alone. I made a mental note to tell him this come December.

We found Syd hiding behind a radiator in the hallway. We left her there. Freddie greeted us as we entered our apartment. After making introductions and shaking hands, I said to Freddie, “Thanks for calling first.” He shrugged. How rude.

“Maybe if I got a tip for the massage, I’d extend courtesies to you.”

“How’d you get the address?”

“Brooklyn information.”

I scowled menacingly. “Look, pal, I can melt steel just by thinking hard.”

“No need to,” Freddie said. “Everything in this apartment—including steel—has already melted. Haven’t you people heard of air-conditioning?”

“Haven’t you heard of chlorofluorocarbons?” I asked.

“Not really.”

“I feel personally violated when anyone breaks into my place,” I said testily. “If you don’t have the juiciest hunk of dish this side of McDonald’s, I’m going to have to hurt you.”

“Can I have some water, please?” he asked. A bead of sweat rolled under his goatee. “You wanted to talk about Barney Cutler’s death,” he said. “And, after I get something to drink, that’s what I’ll do.”

I looked at Max. He shrugged. I fetched Freddie a glass of water. Neither the glass nor the water sparkled. He took a drink. Then the three of us sat down in a row on my couch. It was a tight squeeze, and there was nowhere else to sit. Freddie looked around for a place to put his glass. Failing to find a coffee table, he settled on the floor. I checked the time: half past a cow’s ass. I had to be up before nine to go see Jack in the slammer.

I said to Freddie, “How long do you think you’re going to need?” He seemed puzzled. “I mean, are we going to be talking all night about this, or will it only be an hour or so?”

Freddie turned up his round nose. “I’m not saying anything at all with him in the room.” He meant Max.

“I’m not leaving you in here alone with my girlfriend.” I still love to hear Max call me his girlfriend. Other boyfriends, in my past, have introduced me by saying, “This is my... this is Wanda,” which wasn’t exactly reassuring.

“Max, boyfriend, darling. Go stand in the hall.”

“I will not,” he responded.

I leaned over to him and whispered my usual bribe: a blow-job for the entire episode of next week’s “Seinfeld.” Max muttered under his breath. He stood and fanned out his chest by drawing his arms back. He bore into Freddie’s eyes with his own. “I’ll be right outside,” he said. “And if I hear so much as a hair grow, I’m going to kick your fat ass down those stairs.” And Max could damn well do it, he didn’t bother to say. He slowly walked to the door and closed it behind him. He probably had his ear pressed against the dead bolt.

“You know that spot you worked on earlier? On my back. Under my shoulder blade. It still hurts.”

I pointed over my shoulder at the spot. Freddie rolled his brown eyes, and began rubbing. “I want you to know that the only reason I threatened you today was to scare you,” he said. “I wanted to see if you’d talk under pressure.”

“The only thing I do under pressure is cook.” His fingers were divine. “And despite the fact that your fingers are like the golden rods of Olympus, I know that you’re not a massage therapist. At least not in any official capacity at the Western Athletic Club.”

“Janey is a friend,” he said cryptically. “And I am a real massage therapist.” He untwisted my muscle knot like a sailor. “The big lie I told you was that Barney and I were buddies.”

My spine crackled under his palms. I said, “Ooh, that’s good.” I might have been too vocal in my praise. The apartment door slammed open. Max’s impressive body loomed in the door frame.

“What’s this?” he asked, seeing Freddie’s hands at my back.

“An open exchange of information and ideas,” I said. “And a little back rub on the side.”

“Take your hands off her,” Max demanded of Freddie.

Max hated to give me back rubs. The way he gets out of this boyfriendly duty is to squeeze my shoulder muscles too hard. I tell him to lighten up, and then he stops, claiming to be unable to please me. I said, “Either Freddie or you, honey.”

“I think I hear Syd calling me,” Max said and disappeared into the hall again.

Freddie stopped rubbing. “I don’t feel comfortable with this,” he said, staring at the closed door. “Maybe I should go.”

“I know why you came up here. Besides the fact that I sort of invited you,” I said. “Freddie Smith isn’t your real name.”

“I’m amazed,” he said like he wasn’t.

“Well?” I asked.

“Kruger,” he said. “Freddie Kruger.”

“I can see why you lied.”

“Oh, I don’t usually lie. But I didn’t want you to know my name, depending on what you already knew about me in connection to Barney. And Smith was the first thing I thought of.”

“Not Jones?” I asked.

“Okay, so it’s not the most inventive. I’m a massage therapist, not an advertising copywriter.”

I forced a smile. “I wouldn’t have believed Kruger either.”

“Few do. I’m president of a support group for people with negatively associated names. Vice President Daumer and Secretary Harding have it worse than I do.”

“I’m sure.” I checked my watch: late. “Look, Freddie, let’s cut to the chase here. I know you’re the scientist Barney and Ameleth commissioned to work on the chromium compound for losing weight.” Freddie looked perplexed. He said, “The what?”

“Like you don’t know. Ameleth as much as told me it was you.” Actually, Ameleth told me nothing of the sort, but I hadn’t bluffed someone for information in hours.

Freddie shook his head. “Ameleth Bergen and I don’t even know each other. I doubt she’s ever laid eyes on me. Barney was the one I knew. He hardly even talked about Ameleth. And when he did, it wasn’t terribly flattering.”

I searched his eyes for a lie. He had to be the one. Why else would he be trying to figure out what I knew? “What is it you’re so busy trying to protect?”

He thought for a moment. “What the hell is a chromium compound? Is it some kind of militant fat farm? Is this something one might consider to be a healthy investment?”

“Forget that,” I said, almost convinced he had nothing to do with it. “Tell me all about you and Barney. And after we talk about that, I’d like you to step into my kitchen.” Provided that I can unearth a sharp knife in this mess, I would ask him to demonstrate how quickly he could slice bread. I hoped Max wasn’t bored out in the hall. I added quickly, “And I think Max should come inside now.”

“No!” Freddie said. “I’ve seen him at the club. For all I know, he’s a member.”

“Of course he’s a member.”

“I mean a member of the club within the club,” said Fred. I was confused. I hate it when that happens. “Ah, yes,” I said. “That club.” I nodded knowingly. “For the record, the whole thing was Barney’s idea. He only recruited me to train the girls.”

“And you trained them well, I hear.”

“The art of sensual massage is my calling in life, Wanda,” Freddie bragged.

“And that, of course, included a demonstration of how to kill someone by pressing their carotid arteries,” I said.

“Well, that, too. But only in case a client gets out of hand. Sometimes hookers find themselves in the darnedest situations.”

Did he say hookers? “You don’t have to tell me.”

“You were a hooker?”

“Once, long ago,” I lied.

Max burst inside. “What?” he demanded. “Did I just hear you say you were a prostitute? I’ve gotten used to this detective crap, and I’m okay with the fact that you’ve slept with more guys that all of us can count on our fingers and toes, but I’m not sure I can spend eternity with a woman who used to have sex for money. I’m sorry, Wanda.” Max sank down onto the couch, completely dejected.

I turned to Fred. “Would you excuse us for a moment?”

“Go in the hall?” he asked.

“If you don’t mind.”

Fred went in the hall. I punched Max on the shoulder and whispered, “What kind of moron are you? No, don’t tell me. You’re the moronic kind.”

“Don’t you turn this around,” he said.

“I was trying to relate so he’d talk more. Jesus, you can be such an idiot. Do you really think I’d have sex for money? For jewels, a castle in France, my own talk show—maybe. But for money? Am I so crass? If you really think I could have, maybe you shouldn’t marry me.

“Who said anything about getting married?” he asked.

“You did, asshole.”

“I said spending eternity together—a completely different thing.”

“So you’d join me in a suicide pact, but not in marriage?”

“You’re losing it, Wanda. This time, you’re really gone.”

The fight continued. Freddie’s knock was barely audible. Finally, he just walked back into the apartment and sat down on the couch. Max and I shut up. Freddie said, “You don’t have to pretend you were a hooker. I want to clear my conscience of the whole sordid business.”

“Then talk,” barked Max. “Keep your paws off my girlfriend. And talk fast so you can get the fuck out of here.”

Freddie nodded. His droopy chin sank. “Barney and Janey were running an aerobics instructor prostitution ring in the club.” He cut to the bone. Alex was right. It’d hurt to tell him. “Barney was in charge of getting the clients. He’d mainly scope out the guys who came into his Cut Me store to buy protein supplements to make them more manly looking. He preyed on their insecurities, but it was good business. Janey was in charge of the girls. She’d teach them aerobics so they’d blend in and she’d schedule sessions in the laundry room—and sometimes Ameleth’s office when she was out of town—with the members. The girls would give the guys a sensual massage—that’s where my training comes in—and then whatever the client wanted. Janey kept tabs for each guy. They paid up in cash at the end of the month. This has been going on for about six months. Ameleth has no idea.

“I got a flat fee per girl for teaching massage,” he said. “Janey and Barney were making seventy percent, the girls got thirty. Everyone was getting rich, but then Barney got killed. The only reason I was in the club at all today was to scope out the new instructor—Leeza Robbins. I think that’s her name. Janey was going to see if she was game, and if so, I’d train her immediately. Janey is very committed to keeping the business going, and growing. Of course, she’ll make twice as much money now with Barney gone.”

Freddie found his glass of water on the floor. He sipped and smacked his lips. He continued: “And then you showed up. Janey wanted me to find out if you had any idea about the ring, so she set up the massage with the two of us. And let me tell you, Janey was pissed because nothing came of it. She doesn’t know I’m here, by the way. I want out. I’m having a bout of conscience. Barney might have gotten killed over this. This Leeza seems like a nice girl, and I don’t think Janey should pressure her into getting involved. Plus, well, let’s just say that I don’t know where Janey was at the time of the murder. The whole thing is getting too nasty for me. When we started, it just seemed like a lot of harmless fun.”

The phone rang. Max went to get it. He said, “Hello?” Then he held the phone out. “It’s for you.” I put the receiver to my ear. “Mallory,” I barked. “Falcone,” said the phone.

“Detective,” I cooed.

“Watson’s escaped. I thought you might know where he is.”