So do it. Phoenix waved a regal hand in Patricks direction, apparently forgetting already that he was by her own decree no longer hers to command. Meet with whoever you need to meet with. Find out what they want and give it to them. And no publicity, do you understand? Whatever it takes- What? Kaufman was slowly but firmly shaking his head.
I said you. Its you they want to meet with. They made that very clear. They want you to meet them at the building where- Now Phoenixs head was going back and forth like a mechanical dolls.
No. No way José. Not even if Hell freezes over.
Then there will be publicity, Kaufman said flatly. That theyve promised, and I think youd be wise to believe them. The media has already been all over this. Be thankful its not an election year, or it would probably be worse. As it is, its a five-minute wonder-Young Ghetto Mom Seeks Relief From Heatwave, Dies in Balcony Collapse; Slumlord Sought. Film At Eleven! Tomorrow itll be old news. He paused, rocking slightly in his swivel chair. Unless, of course, somebody gets hold of the juicy little factoid that the slumlord in question is none other than the rock icon known as Phoenix. Who, by the way, currently happens to be in town preparing to launch a career comeback with a new album and world tour
No. No way José. Not even if Hell freezes over.
Then there will be publicity, Kaufman said flatly. That theyve promised, and I think youd be wise to believe them. The media has already been all over this. Be thankful its not an election year, or it would probably be worse. As it is, its a five-minute wonder-Young Ghetto Mom Seeks Relief From Heatwave, Dies in Balcony Collapse; Slumlord Sought. Film At Eleven! Tomorrow itll be old news. He paused, rocking slightly in his swivel chair. Unless, of course, somebody gets hold of the juicy little factoid that the slumlord in question is none other than the rock icon known as Phoenix. Who, by the way, currently happens to be in town preparing to launch a career comeback with a new album and world tour
Tell them here, Phoenix whispered, after a tense and prolonged silence. Perhaps only Doveman could see that she was trembling. Ill meet with them here, in this office-thats it, or nothing. Let them go to the media if they want. Then they can sue me. And see how long it takes before they get one dime out of me!
With her panthers stride she crossed the office and was out the door. While Kaufman let go a hiss of breath, Doveman gave a shrug, picked up his stained and crumpled fedora and followed.
In the elevator, Phoenix leaned like an exhausted marathoner against the back wall. She heard Doveman step on just before the door closed, but he didnt speak and neither did she. Behind her usual pair of mirrored sunglasses, her eyes were shut tight. There was a brassy taste in her mouth, and a sickening lurch in her stomach that had nothing to do with the elevators controlled plunge.
Tenements. Dear God, she owned tenements. She- Joanna Dunn-was a slumlord.
Somewhere God-no, not God. Somewhere the Devil must be laughing.
Momma, were cold. Can me and Jonathan and Chrissy get in bed with you?
That was what she remembered most-the cold. But it wasnt cold that had killed this womanthis Louise Parker. It was the heat. All shed wanted was a little breath of air.
Doveman, she said in a raggedy croak, I didnt know.
He replied, his voice husky with more than the lifelong effects of whiskey and cigarettes, I know, child. I know.
Father Frank had tried his best once again to convince Ethan to skip the meeting.
We promised her no publicity, the priest had argued. What if somebody spots you and follows you? The cat will be out of the bag for sure, and there goes any hope we have of a quick resolution.
Ethan promised to keep a low profile. He was confident he could-hed gotten very good at eluding reporters over the years. Now and then even his Secret Service agents-to their extreme dismay-found themselves guarding an empty nest.
I know why you want to go so bad, Father Frank teased him. You just want a chance to see Phoenix up close and personal. Hey-you think I dont know? Whose picture do you think was taped inside my locker door all through high school?
Sure, I want to see her, Ethan said, not smiling back. I want to see her face.
He couldnt have said why it shocked him so profoundly to learn that one of his all-time favorite singer-songwriters-the one responsible for the music that had fueled his idealistic fervor all through college-was, in fact, a slumlord and the person responsible for Louise Parkers death. Or what he hoped to see in her face-the face that had filled his adolescent dreams-as she confronted Louise Parkers neighbors. Repudiation, maybe? Say it aint so, Joe. He only knew that thinking of his favorite Phoenix songs, like Fire On The Water and City Woman-more poignant and gut-wrenching than Pretty Mary as far as he was concerned-now left him with a bitter taste in his throat, and a very personal sense of betrayal and loss.
So, while wild horses couldnt have prevented Ethan from attending the meeting in Phoenixs business managers high-rise office, in keeping with his promise to Father Frank, he was doing his best to keep from being noticed. Which was proving to be more difficult than hed anticipated.
He supposed he couldnt really blame Phoenix for not wanting to confront the delegation of citizens in the intimate confines of her business managers office. Instead, shed chosen to hold the meeting in one of the buildings conference rooms. Designed for corporate business meetings, its furnishings consisted of a huge expanse of polished tabletop surrounded by sumptuous leather-upholstered chairs. At the head of the table, a polished wooden lectern flanked by potted dracaena plants loomed before a screen worthy of a small multiplex. It was a room designed to intimidate corporate vice presidents; it would have taken much less to awe the small group of people that stood shifting their feet on the plush burgundy carpeting.
Having been shown into the room by an aloof secretary and left to their own devices, the delegates-Father Frank and Ruthie Mendoza, Mrs. Schmidt, Kenny Baumgartner from EMS and six residents from The Gardens, eleven in all including Ethan-rather tentatively selected seats around the huge table. No one spoke; the only sounds were some rustlings and scrapings, nervous throat-clearing, a subaudible hum of tension.
A door, cleverly hidden in the design of the paneling to the left of the movie screen, swished silently open. There was a collective intake of breath, followed by a disappointed exhalation as a tall but slightly built, rather stoop-shouldered man came into the room. He moved without hurry, pausing just short of the lectern to make eye contact with those seated around the table and to introduce himself as Phoenixs business manager, Patrick Kaufman.
We come to see Phoenix, one of the tenants, a balding, heavyset black man in his early sixties said in a loud, belligerent voice, which prompted several of the other delegates to nod and mutter in agreement, much like an evangelical congregation murmuring Amen.
The business manager held up a long, pale hand. Shell be along very shortly. As Im sure youre aware, she is currently in the midst of preparations for a new world tour. She has rearranged her schedule in order to meet with you today, so I hope you will be patient- He broke off as Father Frank rose to his feet on a wave of more rustlings and angry murmurs.
Yes, and as Im sure youre aware, a woman has died. The priest spoke quietly, but even his customary poise was betrayed by a slight tremor of nervousness. And many of these people have taken time off from work in order to come here today-time they can ill-afford. I would hope-
Hi-Im so sorry to have kept you waiting. The husky voice, instantly recognized and unmistakable, spoke from the back of the room. And every head in the room snapped toward the sound as if pulled by the same invisible thread.
Later, when hed had a chance to think about it, Ethan was able to convince himself that she probably hadnt meant to make such a dramatic entrance. It was just that, with Phoenix, there couldnt be any other kind. The woman had only to step onto a stage, or walk into a room, he thought, and you could hear the thud of bass guitars and the zap-zap of laser lights, taste the tension, smell the excitement. It seemed as if she carried the spotlight with her wherever she went, like some kind of personal energy field. And yetand yet For the life of him, he could not put his finger on the reason why.
It couldnt have had anything to do with the way she was dressed. In jeans-fashionably low-slung on hips as slender and lithe as a girls-and a pale blue knit top with a square-cut neckline that clung to her supple body like a stocking and stopped just where the waistband of the jeans began, she could have passed for one of the delegates seated around the conference table-or one of their children. But for the mirrored sunglasses, of course. And the hair-that famous hair, now the irridescent blue-black of a crows wing-that fell from a haphazard center part, rippled down her back and slapped gently against her buttocks when she walked.
It couldnt have had anything to do with the way she was dressed. In jeans-fashionably low-slung on hips as slender and lithe as a girls-and a pale blue knit top with a square-cut neckline that clung to her supple body like a stocking and stopped just where the waistband of the jeans began, she could have passed for one of the delegates seated around the conference table-or one of their children. But for the mirrored sunglasses, of course. And the hair-that famous hair, now the irridescent blue-black of a crows wing-that fell from a haphazard center part, rippled down her back and slapped gently against her buttocks when she walked.
Traffic was murder, the world famous rock star said as she crossed the room with the same long-legged stride that would carry her the width of a concert stage in a few pounding beats. Her voice was breathless, her smile wry, inviting those seated around the table to commiserate. Theyve got Fremont all torn up-what are they doing, fixing potholes? Anyway, I got lost in all those one-way streets theyve got downtown now. Whose idea were those? Having reached the head of the table, she whirled and addressed those seated around it as if she truly wanted to know.