Shame

murderers don’t have an IQ of one sixty-three.”
    “You didn’t answer my question. You’re not going to try to make me into something other than what I am, are you? I’m no tragic figure, and I’m not anything special. Your book’s going to be a failure if it paints me as anything other than what I am.”
    “And what are you?”
    “I’m the exact opposite of a tree.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I never set roots, I never gave the world shade, I never warmed a room, I never filled a table with fruit or nuts, and I never stretched for the sky. Instead of nurturing nests, I destroyed them.”
    “So the exact opposite of a tree is death?”
    “No. The exact opposite of a tree is worse than death.”
    “Do you like being an enigma?”
    “What I don’t like is being given a nobility I don’t have. I knew someone who knew someone who served with that Birdman of Alcatraz. Burt Lancaster made him seem all noble in that movie, but the truth of the matter is, he was a horrible human being who just happened to like birds. And just because he cared for his birds, people wanted to believe there was some deeper humanity in him. It’s like you trying to make something out of this poetry thing.”
    “What are the words that will never be on your tombstone?”
    The air came out of his nose, an amused exhale. He shook his head, but Elizabeth knew it was show. She waited on his words. He acted as if he had all the time in the world, and yet he was due to die in less than a week. As he started reciting, his voice became softer, almost wistful.
    “Inside these breast-bones I lie smutch’d and choked,
    Beneath this face that appears so impassive hell’s tides continually run,
    Lusts and wickedness are acceptable to me, I walk with delinquents with passionate love,
    I feel I am of them—I belong to those convicts and prostitutes myself,
    And henceforth I will not deny them—for how can I deny myself?”
    She awoke to the past and the present both clinging to her. It took her a moment to realize the vibration was coming from her cell phone.
    “Excuse me,” Elizabeth said, letting go of Dana’s hands and reaching for her cell phone.
    She looked at the number, then said, “I have to leave.”
    The exact same words, Elizabeth remembered, that she’d said to Gray Parker after he had finished reciting that poem to her.

26

    H ALF THE TABLES at Jimmy Sun’s Red Dragon were occupied, something Elizabeth didn’t expect at two in the morning, but with the bars just closed, she suspected the restaurant had acquired unofficial after-hours club status. Voices were loud, the volume fueled by the offerings of the recent last call. The crowd was mostly young. Judging by all the tantalizing smells coming from the kitchen, they were also hungry.
    There were no singles sitting in the restaurant, no sign of Sue.
    “Just one?”
    The accented voice made Elizabeth jump. Her close call with death had her on edge. An older Chinese woman with thick glasses hustled out from behind the maître d’ stand.
    “No. Someone will be joining me.”
    The woman impatiently motioned for Elizabeth to follow her. At the first vacant table she dropped the two menus. “Enjoy your meal,” she said, her parting words sounding more like a command than a pleasantry. The table was too exposed for Elizabeth’s liking and too near an exuberant party. She moved herself over to a booth.
    A busboy brought a pot of tea. Elizabeth poured herself a cup. Blowing on the steaming tea, she took a few grateful sips. She cradled her hands around the cup, glad for its warmth. Onthe wall nearest her were pictures of celebrities who had apparently dined at the Red Dragon. Elizabeth tried to put names to the familiar faces but found she could match very few of them. Something had to be wrong with her life, she decided. She was more familiar with the FBI’s Top Ten list than she was with Hollywood’s.
    A face came between Elizabeth and one of the pictures, a pretty face, dark and sensuous. “Ms. Line?”
    “Sue?”
    They shook hands, and the woman took a seat. She looked flustered. “Confession’s supposed to be good for the soul, isn’t it?” she asked.
    Elizabeth barely had time to nod before the woman continued. “My name’s not Sue, Ms. Line. I gave you a fake name. Caleb didn’t want me to give my real name. I figured that since I’m part Sioux Indian, it would be clever of me to call myself Sue, though I’m not feeling very clever right