Big Easy Bonanza

emergency setup, every seat was already taken. O’Rourke made no move to find her a vacant one, no move to help her stand.
    “I’m fine,” said Skip, and forced herself not to sink against a wall.
    In the car, he said, “What happened, Langdon?”
    “Hey,” said Joe. “Come on. Lay off.”
    “I just asked what happened.”
    “Leave her alone. Can’t you see the poor kid feels like a dog’s breakfast?”
    What
had
happened? She was trying to make up her mind whether to drive or walk to the Bon Ton … “Oh, no!”
    Joe said, “What is it, Skip? You feel sick?”
    “I had a date!”
    “Your date clobbered you?”
    “No! I stood him up. Oh, no!”
    “Yeah, well, don’t tell anybody,” said O’Rourke. “They might take you out of the Social Register.”
    “I’m not in the goddamn Social Register!”
    Joe said, “Leave her alone, okay?” To Skip, “Here we are. Frank’ll walk you up while I park.”
    “No!” She flung herself out of the car and raced to her doorway, but it was no good. O’Rourke was behind her. She’d run only a few steps, but she was dizzy from the effort.
    O’Rourke said, “Easy,” and put an arm around her.
    Without a word, even to protest the offending arm around her waist, she unlocked the door and started up the stairs. O’Rourke dropped the arm.
    In her own apartment she hesitated, unwilling to turn on the light. Jimmy Dee could see it from the slave quarters where he lived in relative splendor. He might pop over smoking a joint as usual. But surely he wouldn’t—he’d assume she’d brought her date home. While she was still debating, O’Rourke flipped the switch himself. Skip had hung up her suit but left her pantyhose on the floor, where she’d thrown them in disgust. Thank God, she thought, she had made up the damn bed. She swooped down to get the pantyhose, dislodging something, it felt like. Something cranial.
    “Ow.” She got up slowly and checked her message machine. Three messages. Two more than usual, considering Jimmy Dee checked in now and then; but he wouldn’t have tonight. So three more than usual. They’d all be from Steve, and they’d be increasingly angry. She certainly wasn’t going to play them for O’Rourke’s amusement. Instead, she merely ignored him. He could sit down or not, she didn’t give a damn. As for her, she did; on the sofa, and dialed Cookie Lamoreaux’s number. Steve answered.
    “Steve. Skip. Listen, I’m really—”
    The click was loud, so loud O’Rourke had to have heard it. As she hung up, he said, “So who whacked you, Langdon?”
    “I didn’t see anyone. I was locking my door.”
    He shook his head in disgust. “You sure you went to the academy? Or did they just sneak you in the back door?”
    “Could I ask you something, O’Rourke? Why do you hate me?” She thought he could not have looked more surprised if he’d been the one who got clobbered.
    “I don’t—” He stopped, and she knew he’d started to say he didn’t hate her, but he couldn’t because he did.
    Maybe it was the head injury, or rather, the lost inhibitions caused by the injury, but she knew she’d hit it. He and Tarantino weren’t pulling something on her, and it wasn’t a case of simple dislike, as Duby suggested. Frank O’Rourke really hated her; she thought he hadn’t even caught on to it himself till right now.
    The doorbell rang, and he let Joe in, not out of consideration, she was sure, but to avoid having to face her and her stark accusation. She didn’t let up. As Joe’s heavy steps pounded up the stairs, she said, “What have I ever done to you?”
    She thought his ruddy complexion lightened up, but she couldn’t be sure.
    Joe stood at the threshold. He said again, “You okay?” She nodded. “We gotta talk a few minutes.”
    She realized he was waiting for her to ask him in. It was an effort, but she smiled, “Come in, Joe.” The moment with O’Rourke was lost.
    Though her head throbbed and she wanted nothing more than to lie down, she let the two men have the sofa, while she sat in her director’s chair.
    O’Rourke said, “This has got something to do with the case, doesn’t it?”
    “My getting hit? I don’t know. I told you—I didn’t see who did it.”
    “Langdon, the people who found you were pretty shocked to find a gun in your purse. Your wallet was there too. Did you count your money?”
    “No.”
    “Do it now.”
    “No.”
    “Goddammit, you’re impeding a murder investigation.”