A dark memory stirred in the depths of my brain, and then dug its way out to the light. I recalled sitting on the couch in the waiting room of the district attorney’s office, eavesdropping while his blushing receptionist yakked and flirted on the phone. She was saying something about her boss and his wife, and Friday night, and the Copacabana at eight o’clock sharp. She must, I realized with a start, have been talking to Tony Corona.
Aaargh. The signal had been blinking all along, but I’d been too dim to pay attention.
“Did you know that Hogarth was going to be here tonight?”
“Not on your life,” Jocelyn insisted. “If I had known, I would’ve made my date take me someplace else. I don’t mind watching Tony perform, prancing around like he’s God’s greatest gift to women. After all, he’s a really good singer. But it makes me sick to my stomach to see Sam pulling the wool over everybody’s eyes, strutting around in public like a fine, upstanding law enforcer when he’s a vicious rapist at heart. He’s got the morals of a goat, but everybody treats him like a god.”
I wanted to know more about Jocelyn’s involvement with Hogarth and Corona -and about Hogarth’s and Corona ’s involvement with each other-but the clock was ticking too fast. I had to stick to the big questions.
“What did Hogarth say about Melody?” I urged, breathless to get back to my prime concern. “How did her name come up?”
“I brought it up myself, just to get a reaction. I asked him if he missed Melody as much as I did.”
“What a nervy question!” I said. “How did he answer it?”
“He didn’t. Not with words. But if looks could kill, I’d be deader than a goddamn doornail.”
“That’s it? He just gave you a dirty look? That’s all that happened?”
“No. After he knifed me with his steely stare, he winked and smirked and said, ‘Who’s Melody?’ He looked so smug and cocky I wanted to spit in his face.”
“I hope you didn’t.”
“No, I thought better of it.”
“So, what did you do?” I implored. “What happened next?” I sucked down one last blast of smoke and stubbed out my cigarette.
“Well, first I answered his arrogant question,” she said, looking pretty arrogant herself. “I said that Melody was Virginia Pratt, and he damn well knew it! Then I leaned real close and whispered in his ear that if he wasn’t careful, a few other people would know it, too.”
“Oh, my God, Jocelyn! You threatened him? Are you completely out of your mind? You shouldn’t have done that!”
“I know, I know!” Her haughty expression warped into a grimace of fear. “Why do you think I’m so upset? I can’t imagine what got into me. I saw red, and completely lost my cool. I wanted to wipe that ugly smirk off Sam’s face and bring him to his knees. I wanted to shock him into thinking I knew something about the murder, then watch to see if he would do or say something incriminating.”
“And did he?” I croaked. (I’m ashamed to say my curiosity outweighed my concern.)
“No, not really, but-”
The door to the ladies’ lounge flew open, and three very silly, very drunk young ladies tottered in. Giggling, weaving, and hanging on to each other like muddle-headed monkeys in a strong wind, they made their way across the room and disappeared in the recesses of the lavatory. Their whoops and shrieks echoed loudly against the white-tiled walls.
Through the still-open lounge door I could hear a man singing. It was Tony Corona, of course, and he was wrapping his killer voice around the lyrics to the popular old standard “Fools Rush In.” Realizing that I’d missed my demanding host’s big entrance and had to get back to the table fast, I gave Jocelyn a hasty excuse, made a mad dash for the door, and- charging through it like a witless fool-rushed in where angels fear to tread.
Chapter 28
FROM THE MOMENT HE SAW ME APPEAR IN THE crowd and start working my way to the front, Corona glowered at me and sang louder. His angular, clean-shaven face turned hard, and his lean, muscular body grew tight with tension. Standing poised in the spotlight in his sleek black tuxedo, he looked like a panther preparing to pounce. Then-when I finally made it to the table and sat down next to Abby-he did pounce. He snatched the microphone off its stand and bounded over to us, aiming the words of his song, like bullets, at the target of my blushing face.
“So open up your heart and let this fool rush in,” he bellowed, making the final line of the ballad sound more like a fierce command than the tender appeal the lyricist had surely intended. Then he shot me another creepy sneer, strutted back to the center of the dance floor, and-as the spotlights began to spin and the band brought the song to a climactic close-took an angry bow.
The audience went wild. (Either Corona ’s forceful voice and tough demeanor turned them on, or they got a kick out of watching me squirm.) The men whistled, the women squealed, and everybody clapped like crazy. Some people jumped to their feet and shouted, “Bravo!” I, on the other hand, sat quiet as a mouse in my chair, ducking the swirling spotlights and staring down at the white tablecloth, wishing I could crawl under it.
“Where the hell were you?” Abby cried, shouting in my ear to be heard over the crowd. “You missed Corona ’s entrance and most of his opening number! How could you do that? Don’t you remember what Sabrina said about-”
“Hush!” I shouted back at her. “Something happened in the ladies’ room and I couldn’t leave. I’ll tell you about it later.”
She gave me a snotty look and then signaled our waiter to bring us two more champagne cocktails.
While Corona was taking a few more bows and basking in the glow of his standing ovation, I snuck a quick peek at the mezzanine to see if Manhattan ’s deceitful district attorney was really there.
He was.
Sitting tall and proud at a choice table near the railing with his beautiful and elegantly dressed young wife, Sam Hogarth looked as if he were posing for an official courthouse photo-or, more precisely, a presidential portrait destined to hang on a wall in the White House. His wavy gray hair gleamed silver in the revolving lights, and his wide, toothy grin was so dazzling the glare hurt my eyes. I turned away to avoid serious ocular damage.
When the applause died down, Corona fired me another disapproving frown, then spun around and snapped his fingers at the band. They played the intro to one of his more current hits, “Hearts on Fire,” and-without a nod or a word to the audience or me (thank God)-he launched into the song.
I couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time to pay the piper. Knowing tonight might be the only chance I’d ever get to interview Corona, I had to do whatever I could to get back in his good graces. I hiked up my skirt, crossed my legs in plain sight, leaned low over the table, and-following Sabrina’s direction- showed Corona as much cleavage as was humanly possible (for me, I mean). Then I took a deep breath, batted my lashes like an idiot, and gave the cruel crooner my undivided attention for the rest of the show. I didn’t once avert my eyes, or smoke a cigarette, or say a word to Abby. And at the end of every song I whooped and shimmied and clapped till I thought my hands would fall off.
I was dying to drink my cocktail, but I didn’t dare. Partly because of Sabrina’s caution, but mostly because I was so repulsed by Corona and the sinister circumstances (and by my own sickeningly subservient behavior), I felt another sip of Copa champagne would make me puke.
WHEN THE ORDEAL WAS FINALLY OVER-WHEN Corona had left the stage, and the band had stopped playing, and the spotlights had stopped spinning, and the audience had stopped applauding-a huge gorilla in a tuxedo appeared at our table and introduced himself as Little Pete, Tony Corona’s main man.