Shoot the Moon

Chapter Twenty-Two - The Chairman of the Board

I walked across the Park skirting the Harlem Meer, angling always westward towards home. In the quickening air of late October, the city glowed in the sundown, preserved in amber. I called Echo on her cell phone (interrupting a Met gala planning session) and she agreed to meet me for dinner.  

I was uneasy about the way she was taking my recent full disclosure. She seemed calm but eerie, as if she had reconciled herself to an unpleasant fate. For me, that is. 

We went to a place called Ouest on Upper Broadway and had a good grilled chicken, braised beef short ribs and a bottle of wine. Echo was cheered up by the warm welcome she received from the staff. They always remembered her and made a huge fuss about how beautiful, how elegant, tres chic. Echo relaxed and chatted happily away with everybody in sight, conversing in a beautifully accented French with a bon a fide Frenchman she discovered at the bar. (She spent her junior year at the Sorbonne and visited Paris twice yearly.)  

The good feeling kept rolling and Echo entertained me with stories about the stuffy Museum board members and told a couple of amusing anecdotes about life on the road. She had sent the company on ahead to Ithaca.  

"Toronto is cancelled by the way. We'll be back early." 

"I'm sorry you were cancelled but I'm glad you're coming home. I don't do well without you." 

She cut her eyes sharply at me and I knew I hadn't been forgiven at all. 

"Really?" she said, "I'm not cramping your style? Maybe I should stay away until you get arrested. You might like to get involved in something really dangerous, you know." 

"Darling, how could you be anything but a constant help and delight." 

"I could help, you know. Daddy has powerful friends in the police department. He could do something." 

"Let's just keep Daddy out of it. Okay?" 

"I suppose I understand your reluctance to have him know what's going on." 

"I'd prefer to handle things myself, if it's all the same to you." 

Echo looked blankly at me. Then she shrugged and said, "I suppose you know what you're doing." 

"I do. You'll see. And I'd like to say, I think it's very sexy, the way you're not freaking out over a little trouble." 

She smiled and lifted her glass. "It's my specialty. In certain circles I'm known for not freaking out." 

The wine was fantastic with the food. Since there was no call for a festive mood, that was reason enough to order shots of Calvados with strong black coffee. The liquor opened my veins and started my blood pumping. The giant killer does its magic and you feel untouchable again.  

"Want to hear the good news?" Echo said, "We're booked into the Joyce when we get back." 

This was great news. The Joyce Theater is a real dance venue. Established companies perform there. It was a terrific breakthrough for Echo's company and we toasted success. Suddenly it was a party and a hint of the old chemistry was in the air. 

We were walking along Central Park West, when a limo pulled up ahead of us. I was thinking slowly because of all the drink. It wasn't until the door of the limo opened and The Ghost appeared that I had the .38 out and in my right hand, pressed to my leg where Echo couldn't see it. 

Ghost said, "Senor Cruz will speak with you." 

Echo said, "Who?" 

I pulled her away a step. "This is the drugs guy. You turn around and walk away."