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“Is Lydia in?”
She shook her head. “No, she’s downtown with Edwin.”
Edwin Karpinski was another attorney with The Freedom Agenda. Well, he wasn’t really with The Freedom Agenda. He had an office there, but he did very little. I got the impression he had something to do with finding civil attorneys for our clients, then facilitating our getting some portion of the settlements. I also noticed he’d swoop in and seem to take credit for most of Lydia’s work.
It was just as well she was out; I wasn’t there to see her. I plunked a bottle of wine, still in its brown bag, in front of Karen. She eyed me suspiciously and opened the bag. She gave me a stern look, and said, “White zinfandel? Really? Because I’m a Black girl?”
I blushed, that was exactly why I’d chosen it. I’d heard that Black girls liked sweet wines—not that we got many of them at The Hawk.
“I can go back and get you a chardonnay.”
“No, I like white zinfandel. I just don’t like you knowing I like it.”
“Okay. Next time I’ll ask.”
“No. Next time you’ll bring me Courvoisier.”
That was another alcoholic beverage supposedly enjoyed by Black people. I couldn’t tell if she was ribbing me or serious. She set the bottle of wine to the side. “I’m guessing you want something. Something you’re not supposed to have?”
“It’s personal. I need you to find out what you can about a private detective named Hamlet Gilbody.”
She shook her head, and said, “The things people do to their children. Is that all you know about him?”
“He said he’s from Chicago but that might not be right.”
“He could be lying about that name, too. I’ll do a broad search.”
“Thank you.”
“Mmm-hmmm.”
The way she looked at me, like she could see right through me, made me wonder if she’d gotten bored one afternoon and done a search on me. Very little she found would match the things I’d said about myself. It might be a good idea to get her that bottle of Courvoisier.
****
Lydia came into The Hawk about seven that night. We were still in the thick of the afterwork crowd, the serious drinkers who didn’t want to start at the nicer, more expensive bars down the street. There weren’t any seats at the bar, so I raised a finger at her asking that she wait. I took a Bud Lite out of the cooler under the bar and poured a shot of tequila. I set them in front of a guy named Bucky.
“These are on me.”
“Really, thanks!”
“Because you’re going to give this nice lady your seat.” I pointed at Lydia. Bucky glanced at her and then downed the tequila. He picked up the bottle of beer he hadn’t finished and the one he hadn’t started and moved away.
Lydia slid onto the stool. “Absolut martini, straight up, olive, dry as a bone.”
“I remember.”
I took down a martini glass. Honestly, I used them far more than I wanted to. The fad for appletinis was spreading like herpes. I made the drink quickly and set it down in front of her.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m meeting Dwayne for a drink and then dinner at Nectar.”
Dwayne was her husband, a rather tight-assed studio executive, which is why I asked, “And you thought a visit to a sleazy gay bar would be a great start to a romantic evening?”
“I have a couple of things I want to talk to you about. Two birds, one stone.”
“Sip on that,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
