“Black emerald. Glad you like it, I bought it for tonight.” She pecked my cheek. “You hungry? I’m famished.”
The Bel Air dining room’s one of those places that can be nearly full, but still quiet. Irish coffee for her, gin and tonic for me. The complimentary ramekins of soup, then salad, rack of lamb, Dover sole, a bottle of Pinot Grigio. A real waiter, not a pretty-face biding time till the next big break. A man I recognized—one of the Salvadoran busboys who’d earned his way up doing the job well.
We’d made it to dessert when he approached the table looking pained. “Sorry, Doctor, there’s a call for you.”
“Who?”
“Your answering service. They insist.”
I used the phone in the bar. The operator said, “This is June, I’m sorry to bother you, Dr. Delaware, but this guy keeps on calling, claims it’s urgent. He sounds pretty agitated, so I figured . . .”
The phone ring I’d ignored in the car. “Detective Sturgis?”
“No, a Mr. Tim Plachette. Did I do right?”
“Sure,” I said, wondering. “Put him through.”
Tim said, “Where is she?”
“Robin?”
“Who else?” He was talking loud, nearly shouting, and his gorgeous voice had lost its silk.
“I have no idea, Tim.”
“Don’t screw with me, Alex—”
“Last I heard she was in San Francisco with you.”
Pause. “You’d better be leveling with me.”
“I’m out to dinner, Tim. I’m going to hang up, now—”
“No!” he shouted. “Please.”
I took a deep breath.
He said, “I’m sorry, I assumed . . . it was logical.”
“What was?”
“Robin being with you. She left this morning . . . we had a fight. I figured she’d run back to you. I’m sorry . . . where is she?”
“If I knew, I’d tell you, Tim.”
“If you asked me what the fight was about, I couldn’t tell you. One minute we were getting along and the next . . . my fault, I was too damn busy, didn’t pay her enough attention, this lousy show—”
“I’m sure you’ll work it out, Tim.”
“You didn’t.”
I let that ride.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m being a total asshole, I’m really sorry. It’s just that she was so angry with me, I assumed she went back because . . . the truth is, she still feels for you, Alex. It’s something I’ve been dealing with. It’s not easy—”
“You have nothing to worry about,” I said. “I’m having dinner with another woman. Someone I’ve been seeing for a while—”
“The psychologist. Robin told me. She talks about you more than she realizes. Tries be casual about it . . . I’m willing to put up with it if it’s just a matter of time . . . I really love her, Alex.”
“She’s a great woman.”
“She is, she is . . . goddamn, if she’s not with you, where the hell is she? Her flight got in at five, I gave her an hour and a half to get home, called, got no answer. Called again, kept calling—”
“Try her friend Debby, in San Diego.”
“I did. She hasn’t heard from Robin, either.”
“She probably just needs time by herself,” I said, feeling my stomach knot.
“I know, I know . . . okay, I’ll keep trying. Listen, thanks, Alex. Sorry for being such a moron. I shouldn’t have presumed—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said.
Easier said than done.
When I got back to the table, Allison said, “You look like you just handled a crisis.”
“I suppose I did.”
“Anything you’d care to talk about?”
My mind was racing and shutting her out seemed wrong. I recounted Tim’s call.
“Nice of you to calm him down,” she said.
“That’s me, Father Teresa.”
She sidled over, showed me the dessert menu.
“Whatever you’re in the mood for,” I said.
Allison said, “Too full for dessert?”
“No, I’m just not picky.”
“Okay, then . . . chocolate or nonchocolate?”
“Whatever.”
“You know,” she said, “I’m pretty full.”
“No, let’s go for it.”
She shook her head. “I changed my mind, it’s getting late.”
“I’ve spoiled it.”
“Not at all, baby.”
“Chocolate,” I said.
She patted her tummy. “I really am full, please call for the check. And then let’s drive to Venice.”