“I can find my own dates.”
“Only a fool would turn down this lady.”
“Then I’m a fool.”
Tony sighed. “Suit yourself.”
“Look, what I said last night at The Bolt Hole….”
“Yeah?”
“I wasn’t looking for sympathy.”
“Everybody needs some sympathy now and then.”
“I just wanted you to understand why I’ve been in such a foul mood.”
“And I do understand.”
“I didn’t mean to give you the impression that I’m a jerk, that I’m a sucker for the wrong kind of woman.”
“You didn’t give me that impression at all.”
“I’ve never broken down like that before.”
“I believe it.”
“I’ve never … cried like that.”
“I know.”
“I guess I was just tired.”
“Sure.”
“Maybe it was all that liquor.”
“Maybe.”
“I drank a lot last night.”
“Quite a lot.”
“The liquor made me sentimental.”
“Maybe.”
“But now I’m all right.”
“Who said you weren’t?”
“I can get my own dates, Tony.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
They concentrated on their cheese omelets.
There were several large office buildings nearby, and dozens of secretaries in bright dresses paraded past on the sidewalk, going to lunch.
Flowers ringed the restaurant terrace and perfumed the sun-coppered air.
The noise on the street was typically that of L.A. It wasn’t the incessant barking of brakes and screaming of horns that you heard in New York or Chicago or most other cities. Just the hypnotic grumble of engines. And the air-cutting whoosh of passing cars. A lulling noise. Soothing. Like the tide on the beach. Made by machines but somehow natural, primal. Also subtly and inexpressibly erotic. Even the sounds of the traffic conformed to the city’s subconscious subtropical personality.
After a couple of minutes of silence, Frank said, “What’s her name?”
“Who?”
“Don’t be a smartass.”
“Janet Yamada.”
“Japanese?”
“Does she sound Italian?”
“What’s she like?”
“Intelligent, witty, good-looking.”
“What’s she do?”
“Works at city hall.”
“How old is she?”
“Thirty-six, thirty-seven.”
“Too young for me?”
“You’re only forty-five, for God’s sake.”
“How’d you come to know her?”
“We dated for a while,” Tony said.
“What went wrong?”
“Nothing. We just discovered we make better friends than lovers.”
“You think I’ll like her?”
“Positive.”
“And she’ll like me?”
“If you don’t pick your nose or eat with your hands.”
“Okay,” Frank said. “I’ll go out with her.”
“If it’s going to be an ordeal for you, maybe we should just forget it.”
“No. I’ll go. It’ll be okay.”
“You don’t have to do it just to please me.”
“Give me her phone number.”
“I don’t feel right about this,” Tony said. “I feel like I’ve forced you into something.”
“You haven’t forced me.”
“I think I should call her and cancel the arrangements,” Tony said.
“No, listen, I–”
“I shouldn’t try to be a matchmaker. I’m lousy at it.”
“Dammit, I want to go out with her!” Frank said.
Tony smiled broadly. “I know.”
“Have I just been manipulated?”
“You manipulated yourself.”
Frank tried to scowl, but couldn’t. He grinned instead. “Want to double-date Saturday night?”
“No way. You’ve got to stand on your own, my friend.”
“And besides,” Frank said knowingly. “you don’t want to share Hilary Thomas with anyone else.”
“Exactly.”
“You really think it can work with you two?”
“You make it sound like we’re planning to get married. It’s just a date.”
“But even for a date, won’t it be … awkward?”
“Why should it be?” Tony asked.
“Well, she’s got all that money.”
“That’s a male chauvinist remark if I ever heard one.”
“You don’t think that’ll make it difficult?”
“When a man has some money, does he have to limit his dating to women who have an equal amount of money?”
“That’s different.”
“When a king decides to marry a shopgirl, we think it’s too romantic for words. But when a queen wants to marry a shopboy, we think she’s letting herself be played for a fool. Classic double standard.”
“Well … good luck.”
“And to you as well.”
“Ready to go back to work?”
“Yeah,” Tony said. “Let’s find Bobby Valdez.”
“Judge Crater might be easier.”
“Or Amelia Earhart.”
“Or Jimmy Hoffa.”
***
Friday afternoon.
One o’clock.
The body lay on an embalming table at Angels’ Hill Mortuary in West Los Angeles. A tag wired to the big toe on the right foot identified the deceased as Bruno Gunther Frye.