Masters & Lovers Box Set Three

Chapter 3

Klempner - Twenty-Six Years Ago

The bar is still dressed for Christmas, but at the far side of the room a girl is taking down green and red foil decorations from a tree while a man in blue overalls reaches from the top of a ladder with a screwdriver, fiddling in an electric box, looking back as coloured lights flicker on then off again.

Behind the bar, Angelo is doing his ‘forever work’ of polishing glasses…

“What’ll it be, Larry?” He reaches towards the bottles…

“Just a coffee. It’s a bit early.”

“Coming up.”

To the hiss of steam from the kitchenette, Frank arrives, briefcase in hand.

“Hi, Larry. Happy New Year.” He glances at his wrist. “Not late am I?”

“Not at all. I just arrived myself.”

As we seat ourselves, Angelo arrives with my coffee. “What are you having, Frank?”

“I’ll have a beer. Thanks, Angelo.” He lays the briefcase on the coffee-table starting to click it open…

“Not just now.” I nod towards the door.

He follows my gaze, frowning as he puts the case to one side and Mitch sashays in.

As beautiful as ever, she’s wearing a dress in that shade of green that suits her so well. Classically cut, it suggests her perfect figure without displaying too much of it…

And she’s wearing that fucking necklace that Conners gave her.

“Hi, Mitch. Good holiday?” Angelo holds up a box of tea bags. “Your usual?”

She flashes teeth. “Yes, great holiday.” Then, “And yes. Mint please.”

Mitch undulates over, settling on the couch between me and Frank. “Hi, guys.”

“Hey, Mitch. Great to see you.” Frank breaks into a broad smile, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. “Happy New Year. I was beginning to think you were never coming back.” He jerks a thumb at me. “Did he give you a good time?”

“Hi, Frank. Yes, we had a wonderful time. It was the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

He looks a bit blue at that. Angelo arrives with a tray, setting down beer and tea, then vanishes behind the bar, to return a moment or so later. He dumps a large flimsy cardboard box on the table, the kind a baker might use.

“Old Mr Vacarrelli called by,” he says to Mitch. “I did explain to him that you weren’t working again yet, but he’d brought them with him and he said Happy New Year and we should share them between us. But that if you changed your mind, you should give him a call.”

“Er, right. Thanks.” There’s a touch of pink at her cheekbones. “No, I’m not working yet, and I don’t think I have my phone book with me anyway.”

He thumbs across the room. “You left it in the back there before you left.”

“Fine. Thanks.”

“What’s in the box, Mitch?” I sip my coffee. “Dare I ask?”

She sips at her tea, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let’s just say that not all of my clients want the same thing.”

My cup hovering half-way to the counter-top. “Really?” I eye the box.

She’s actually blushing…

What makes a professional hooker blush?

What the hell is it?

Frank exchanges frowns with me then, scratching at the back of his head, weighs in. “C’mon Mitch. I know you’ve got client confidentiality and all that, but we’re all grown-ups here. We know what grown- ups do together…”

She shoots him a foxy look. “You think? Okay…” she sets her teacup down on its saucer. “He’s an old guy. He had a good marriage but he was widowed some years ago. He’s not forgotten what it’s all about, but he’s pretty elderly and, well… He can’t…” She rocks her hands…. “You know… He’s lonely as much as anything and mainly he wants someone to talk to, but…” She reaches for the box and flips open the lid.

Cream cakes? This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

Frank and I both stare into the box. “Okay,” he says. “I give up. What…?”

“He likes me to throw them at him,” she explains, her eyes twinkling.

Wtf?

Frank rubs the end of his nose. “Run that by me again.”

Her lips quirk. “After we’ve chatted for a bit, he undresses and stands in the bath, and then I have to throw the cream cakes at him. And for every one where I, um, score a direct hit, he pays me a bonus.”

Frank creases up. So do I.

“How long’s this been going on?” I ask.

“About four years now.”

“And how much of a bonus does he pay you?”

“A ten for every bulls-eye.”

“And I’ll bet,” says Frank, “that in that time you’ve become a fucking Olympic grade shot with a cream cake.”

“Damn right,” she chuckles. “I hit the gold five times out of six. It’s earned me a nice little bonus over the years.”

“And that’s all he wants?” I ask.

“Yup. After I’ve exhausted the ammunition, he showers down, pays me and leaves. And I don’t see him again until the same time next week.” She offers the box to us. “Meringue anyone? Or maybe an eclair?”

Frank and I meet eyes. “Think I’ll pass,” he says.

“Me too.”

She offers the box towards the bar. “Angelo?”

“Thanks, Mitch.” His face is bland. “Maybe another time.”

Then Frank belly-laughs, flinging an arm around her shoulders. “Ah, it’s great to have you back, Mitch. That’s the best laugh I’ve had in weeks.”

She stands, heading for the door. “Just going to powder my nose. Back in a minute, boys.”

As she vanishes from view, I say, “You got those papers for me?”

Frank turns brisk. “All here. And I’ve taken some shots for you.” He fishes out a Polaroid camera and a dozen shots. “Just take a quick look through. Check you’re happy…”

I flip through; inside shots, outside shots…

“Yes, they’re fine…”

“Great. I just need your signature about a dozen times over and um…” He eyes me speculatively… “I had to grease a few palms to get it moving as fast as you wanted.”

“That's fine. Invoice me. I'll pay it right away.”

He fishes papers from a file. “Got it here. I've listed the fees as disbursements.” He flicks through the sheets, returns to the file and extracts another document, sliding it over the table. “That’s the last of them.”

“Fine.” I shuffle through the collection, totting up the total, then reach for my cheque-book. To Frank’s raised brows, I write out a cheque.

“Always great doing business with you, Larry. A man knows where he stands.”

Waving the cheque in the air for a moment, I pass it across. “You deliver what I ask for. I pay you. That’s the deal, isn’t it?”

He purses his lips. “In theory, yes. But my life would be a lot easier if everyone paid on the dot like you do. Still…” He turns thoughtful. “… I should have the keys for you at the end of the week. So… you're planning on settling here then? New apartment and all?”

“I'm thinking about it. At any rate, I want somewhere to make my own, instead of camping in hotels all the time.”

“I get that. You still want me to get the decorators in?”

“Yes, nothing elaborate. Cream and neutral colours…”

“Blank canvas kinda thing? Put your own mark on it?”

“You’ve got it. Replace the carpets where it’s needed. I’ll have the furniture sent over when you tell me it’s ready. But the quicker the better.”

“Leave it with me.” Frank’s gaze travels over my shoulder to where Mitch went. “Um… you two an item now?”

Are we?

“I'm not sure what that means,” I say.

“No?” Frank brightens. “No? Right....”

Mitch reappears, rubbing her fingers through each other. “Back again.”

“Hey, Mitch.” Frank snatches up the camera. “Let’s have a photo, eh. The Intrepid Trio at Christmas.”

Intrepid Trio?

How fucking cheesy can you be?

“It’s a bit late for Christmas, Frank,” she says doubtfully.

“C’mon, go with me why don’t you. Hey, Angelo, come and take a shot for us.” Then he slings an arm around Mitch, pulling her closer to himself.

The barman puts down his towel…

Still wiping glasses?

Makes him look busy?

… and makes his way across.

Frank paints on that infernal All-American grin he has. “C’mon, Larry. Raise a smile.”

“Say cheese,” says Angelo, points and clicks. The camera whirrs and hums, then after a moment, disgorges a photo which he passes to Frank.

As he looks at it he grins, teeth showing. “Hey, Mitch, you look great.” Then it fades. “Can’t you try a bit harder for a smile, Larry? Here, Angelo, stick it up on the pin board by the bar.”

Arrogant bastard…

… Who the fuck do you think…?

But I’m interrupted from responding by a new arrival. “Afternoon, sir.” Bech nods to Frank. “Mr Conners.” His eyes settle on Mitch.

There is something in his expression. It’s masked, but…

“Bech, this is my friend, Mitch. Mitch, my… colleague, Mr Bech.”

She stands, smiling and charming, offering her hand. Expressionlessly, he takes it, all the while, measuring her with his eyes.

Then he turns to me. “I have the accounts for you, sir. Expenditures and purchases for the last month, including the last shipment…” His hesitation is minute. “Perhaps you would prefer to discuss them later?”

“Just give me the files, Bech. I’ll look them over and get back to you if I have any queries.”

“Of course, sir.”

I slip the documents in my briefcase and click it tightly closed.

Empty glass in hand, Frank stands. “Can I get you a drink, Mr Bech?”

Lips tight, “Thank you, but no. I have work to be doing.” Narrow-eyed, he scans Mitch again. “I’d better be going. Call me when you’re ready, sir.”

As he exits, Frank guffaws, slapping his thigh. “He’s a charmer, isn’t he.”

“Does he work for you, Larry?” asks Mitch. “Is he part of your Blessingmoors project?”

How does she…?

I cast a sharp look at Frank. “What happened to client confidentiality?”

Frank raises spread palms. “Hey, c’mon, Larry. It’s Mitch we’re talking about here. Besides, what harm can it do? You think she wasn’t impressed when she found out you were behind it?”

Mitch raises a hand to her mouth. “Have I made trouble? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“Forget it,” I say. “Just let it lie.”

“Frank’s right,” she says. “I was impressed when I found out.” She pauses. “Larry, do you need volunteers down there? I know most charities do…”

“No.” My voice is sharper than I intend. “No, Mitch. Thank you for the offer, but we don’t need volunteers.”

*****