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“How so?”
“Singy-songy,” she said. “Syrupy.”
“Coming on too strong.”
“Fake. Singsong. Chanty, like a cult bitch. Trying to come on like shereallycared about me even though we just met. Then she starts touching me. This weird little pat here.”
Tamping a spot atop her hand.
“Then here.” Her shoulder. “Then here.” Her knee. “Like she’s some sort of faith healer with the magic touch.Thenshe leans in real close like she wants to kiss me and says, ‘Mare, if there’s everanythingyou need, don’thesitateto call. Atanytime.Ever.’ I probably nodded because like I said, in Iowa you’re polite. Big mistake. She chants more bullshit, then puts her business card in my hand. Like she’s laying a gift on me.”
Another chuckle formed low in her throat. This time she let it out.
“What I should’ve done is say get the fuck out of my dressing room. What I did say was something like, thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. Then Zak—my idiot drummer—comes back and says, ‘Okay, let’s party.’ Andshesays, ‘Baby doll, we’re discussing matters of importance.’ Then I say, “That’s okay, got to pee, go party.’ I went into the john and stayed there and thank God when I came out the two of them were gone and I could clear the B-flat from my head.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “And that, Alan—Alex—is my experience with Cordelia.”
“Onetime deal,” I said.
“No, actually I saw her once more. A party, don’t ask me where or when, I was…chemical. That time, we didn’t talk but she caught my eye and gave me that same I’m-going-to-help-you smile. A week later, I’m talking to my idiot manager and he says, ‘Good for you, girl, you found someone to express yourself to.’ I say what are you talking about? He says, this chick Zak fucked, she’s a shrink, is all over Facebooksaying you’re BFFs. I go nuts and order him to get her to stop. He says sure, later he tells me the BFF part is gone but he couldn’t stop her from listing me as a plain friend. But I shouldn’t worry, no one takes that shit seriously. Now you’re here asking me about her. So I’m still on her friends list.”
“You are indeed.”
“Internet’s like an STD you can’t cure.” Pitching forward on the bench, she broke into untrammeled laughter.
Nice sound, at first. Then it lasted too long and turned unsettling.
When she finally stopped, I said, “Your instincts were good. She wasn’t a psychologist.”
“No? Then what?”
“She took a correspondence course, got busted for practicing without a license, and switched to calling herself a relationship expert.”
“Little Ms. Bullshit,” she said. “But like I said, Dr. Alex, I’ve found most of therealshrinks to be worthless. No offense.” More laughter. “I guess that is kind of offensive.”
I smiled.
Mary Blank rocked for a few seconds, then smiled. “You’re not the touchy type, huh?”
A childhood spent escaping a violent drunk father can put some layers of numb on you.
I shook my head.
She said, “Yeah, good-looking guys don’t need to be touchy, people touch you anyway. But that doesn’t stop some of them from taking advantage.”
We sat in silence for a few moments. She made no effort to leave.
I said, “Anything else you can tell me about her would be helpful.”
“That’s all I know, Joe. A murder, huh? If it was me, I’d look for someone she really annoyed because I sure found her a pain.”
“Makes sense.”
“Nice to know I can do that,” she said. “Make sense. Sorry for that crack about shrinks, I’m sure you’re a good one.” She frowned. “Don’t like myself when I get rude.”
“Iowa,” I said.
“You nailed it, Good Looking. Roots run deep.”
