8
I
SPLIT A PIZZA with Matthew Lopata in the atrium at the
Holyoke Center, across from Harvard Yard. He was a seriouslooking
twenty-two-year-old mid-sized kid with dark hair cut
short.
"My parents think me
going to Harvard is like I got elected God," he said.
"You doing
okay?"
"Yeah, sure," he
said. "Pretty much everybody does okay, if they get in, unless they
drink themselves to death."
"You graduate this
year?" I said.
"Actually," Matthew
said, "I graduated last year."
"Cum laude?" I said.
Just to be saying something.
"Of course," he
said. "You know what percentage of last year's class graduated cum
laude?"
"Ninety-something,"
I said.
He looked a little
surprised.
"That's right," he
said.
"Must be the
combination of highly intelligent students with great teachers," I
said.
"Sure it is,"
Matthew said.
"You're in grad
school now?" I said.
"Yeah," he said.
"Economics."
"Ouch," I
said.
"I know," he said.
"I know, the dismal science."
He took a bite of
pepperoni pizza from the narrow end of a slice.
"So how's school?" I
said.
"Everybody thinks
Harvard is so hard. It's no harder than anyplace else. All you got
to do is study."
"Which you do," I
said.
"Enough to get by,"
he said.
"It engages you," I
said.
"Yeah," he said.
"Economics is pretty interesting. I mean, the whole deal with
money. Money is something we've made up, you know, because barter
is clumsy. . . . It's smoke and mirrors."
"I've always
suspected as much," I said. "Can we talk about your
sister?"
He was quiet for a
moment, looking down at the pizza. Then, without looking up, he
nodded.
"Good," I said.
"Tell me about her."
"Like what?" he
said.
"You decide,
anything comes to mind."
"She was a good kid
when she was little," Matthew said. "Hell, she was always a good
kid, but she was an awful mess, too."
He was still looking
at the pizza.
"How so?" I
said.
"My parents," he
said, and shook his head. "My old man treated her like she was the
carnival queen and captain of the cheerleading squad. My mother . .
." He raised his eyes from the pizza and looked at me as the
conversation began to engage him. "My mother treated her like she
was an ugly little slut that would fuck every guy she
met."
"Which one did she
buy into?" I said.
"Both," Matthew
said.
It was a rainy day
in Harvard Square, so the foot traffic through the atrium from Mass
Ave to Mount Auburn Street was heavier than it might have been if
the sun were out. A lot of people were carrying umbrellas, which
most of them furled inside. I had always thought that Cambridge, in
the vicinity of Harvard, might have had the most umbrellas per
capita of any place in the world. People used them when it snowed.
In my childhood, in Laramie, Wyoming, we used to think people who
carried umbrellas were sissies. It was almost certainly a hasty
generalization, but I had never encountered a hard argument against
it.
"She promiscuous?" I
said. "If the word still has meaning."
"Some," Matthew
said. "And she was, ah, you know, bubbly and cute."
"Vivacious," I
said.
"Yeah," Matthew
said. "Vivacious. Worked hard as hell at it."
"She wanted to be
popular?"
"More than
anything."
"Maybe valued for
what she was?"
"If she ever knew,"
Matthew said. "They really messed her up."
"Your parents?" I
said.
"Yeah."
"You don't seem," I
said, "at first glance, really messed up."
"I was a boy," he
said.
"Different
standards," I said.
"Yes," he said. "I'm
two years older. I got good grades in school. When she came along,
they expected that she wouldn't."
"And she didn't
disappoint them."
"I guess not,"
Matthew said. "I played sports in high school. She didn't make
cheerleader."
I
nodded.
"I'm sorry to have
to ask," I said. "But have any thoughts about what happened to
her?"
"She probably went
with him," he said. "She was impressed with movie
stars."
"Even fat, piggy
ones?" I said.
"It never seemed to
matter," Matthew said. "If someone was interested in her, or she
thought he was . . ."
"Was she interested
in, ah, atypical sex?"
"Kinky stuff, you
mean? I don't know how old you are, but most girls nowadays do most
things."
"I'm sorry to
press," I said. "But I meant things that most girls don't do
nowadays."
"Stuff that might
have killed her, you mean?"
"Yeah."
"Like, you know,
strangulation stuff?"
"She appears to have
died of asphyxiation," I said.
Matthew shook his
head and looked back down at his pizza. He took a slice of
pepperoni off the pizza and ate it.
"We talked some
about sex," he said. "But not about that kind of stuff. You saying
she coulda done it herself?"
"Or asked Jumbo
Nelson to do it with her."
"He did it," Matthew
said. "Didn't he? Everyone says he did."
"Don't know exactly
what happened," I said. "But I will."
"Who you working
for," Matthew said.
"The law firm that
represents Nelson," I said.
"So you're trying to
get the fucker off," Matthew said.
"Nope, that's the
law firm's job. I'm just trying to find out what
happened."
"And if you find out
that he did it?"
"I'll tell the law
firm," I said.
"And if they get him
off anyway?"
"That's how the
system works," I said.
"Well, the system
sucks," Matthew said.
"Often," I
said.
"So you're willing
to let him get away with killing my sister?" Matthew
said.
"I'll make that call
when I have to," I said.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning it's a hard
call to make. The law says if you can't convict him, then he
doesn't get punished."
"And what do you
say?"
"Maybe he didn't
kill her. Maybe he did but it was an accident. Maybe he did it.
I'll decide what to do about it when I know what
happened."
"If you knew he did
it, and told, would you get in trouble with the law firm?" Matthew
said.
"Might."
"What firm is
it?"
"Cone, Oakes, and
Baldwin," I said.
"Would it matter if
they were mad at you?"
"Be unlikely to hire
me again," I said.
"Could they
blackball you?" he said. "You know, tell other law
firms?"
"Possible," I
said.
"So it wouldn't be a
good idea for you to tell," he said.
"It would not
enhance my earning potential," I said.
Matthew was silent
for a time. The pizza was mostly uneaten. The wet people came and
went in the atrium. At the open ends, I could see the rain falling
hard.
Then he said, "So
you won't."
"Might," I
said.
He repressed a
scornful snort. And nodded knowingly and stood up.
"Thanks for the
pizza," he said.