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“Hi,” she said, calling his cell phone. “I’m here. I’m standing in front of . . .” she looked up, “a store called Sable’s?”
“I’ll be right there,” he said.
She wrapped her coat more tightly around her, pulling up the fur collar and burying her neck inside. She looked into the window of the store. It was a small caviar and smoked fish shop. “Try Our Lobster Salad!” exclaimed a sign in the window. “Best in New York!”
There was a crowd of people in the fish store. A bell tinkled every time someone went in or out.
“I cannot help myself,” she whispered aloud.
She could just imagine how that excuse would go over with Seymour if she got caught. “Sorry, darling, but he was young and gorgeous, and I couldn’t help it. Women will be women, you know? It’s a biological urge.” It was the same lame excuse men had been giving women forever. She’d never really believed it; never accepted that it could be true. But now she was beginning to understand. It could happen. You could be swept away by a physical desire that was bigger than you were, that was bigger than reason, anyway. All she had to do was to end it before anyone found out. If no one knew about it, did it really matter?
She peered down the street, hoping to see Kirby’s tall, loping figure. Where was he? If he didn’t show up in a minute or two, she was going to have to leave.
It wasn’t fair, she thought desperately. She just wanted to have some good sex before she died. Before she got too old for anyone to find her desirable . . .
The bell above the door tinkled. “Nico?” a man’s voice said.
She froze. This was inevitable, she thought. Any second now, Kirby would come walking up and it would be all over.
She turned. “Hello, Lyne,” she said blandly, as if she weren’t the least bit surprised to run into him. What the hell was he doing here on Second Avenue? she wondered wildly. She’d better not ask him, then he would ask her the same question. And what would she say? “I’m meeting my lover”?
Her brain kicked into automatic pilot. “Saw you in the Post again today,” she said, with a wry, slightly accusing smile.
“Not a bad picture, huh?” he said, tapping her on the arm with a rolled up newspaper as if she were one of his male buddies. Did he know that she and Victory were best friends? Better not bring that up. The back of her neck prickled with fear. Kirby was bound to walk up any second now . . .
“I meant the dog run,” she said coolly.
His face hardened. Victory thought Lyne was “sweet,” and he could be when he wanted to be. But she suspected it was mostly an act. Lyne Bennett was a coldhearted killer who didn’t like to be crossed. “They spun that story way out of proportion,” he said. “My objection is to people not picking up their dog shit. And the city not bothering to enforce the law anymore.”
Why had she brought that up? she wondered, smiling stiffly. Now he’d probably go into a whole diatribe about dog shit. She had to get rid of him . . .
She shrugged, giving him the standard response. “The city’s a mess.”
This worked. He tapped her on the shoulder again with the newspaper and gave the usual rejoinder: “And it’s only going to get worse.”
He turned to go and she breathed a sigh of relief. “See ya,” he said.
She waved.
But then he turned back. “Say,” he said, “speaking of messes, what’s going on at Splatch?”
Oh no. He wanted to talk business. If they started talking business, it would be at least another two or three minutes before she could get rid of him. And Kirby would definitely have turned up by then.
“We should have lunch sometime and talk about it,” she said, as if this would ever happen.
He didn’t take the bait. Instead, he moved closer, hunkering down in front of her as if preparing to have a chat. “What’ya think about Selden Rose?” he demanded.
Oh God. She was going to have to brazen this out somehow. Lyne’s question required some kind of answer, but more disturbingly, why was Lyne Bennett interested in Selden Rose? A few possibilities flitted through her brain, including the idea that Lyne thought Selden Rose might actually take over from Victor Matrick. The thought made her sick and slightly angry.
She turned her head. Kirby was now walking up the sidewalk toward them. He was less than five hundred feet away . . .
She turned back to Lyne as if Kirby hadn’t registered. Her heart felt like it was beating right in her throat. She coughed, putting her gloved hand over her mouth. “That depends on why you want to know, Lyne,” she said.
“Just curious,” he replied. She could feel Kirby’s presence right behind her. The muscles in her legs suddenly felt as if they were about to give way.
“Lyne!” Kirby exclaimed. He punched Lyne in the shoulder. Lyne spun around, his face changing from annoyance to a sort of hearty male pleasure. “Eeeeeh. Kirby, my man,” Lyne said, suddenly taking on the demeanor of a twenty-five-year-old guy, holding up his palm for a high-five. Kirby slapped it. Then they hugged, patting each other on the arms.