The Groaning Board

their
partnership would be over. That’s all there was to it.
    But wait. Hadn’t Smith been in the
room when that first call had come in on Wetzon’s newly installed private line?
She couldn’t remember. Of course she was. It wasn’t Smith making those calls. A
pay phone, for godsakes. Anyone can use a pay phone.
    Don’t think about it anymore. Think
about Micklynn. It was bad enough for Smith to believe, with no proof whatever,
that Micklynn was a murderer. What had happened that Micklynn needed Wetzon so
desperately she’d given A.T. the private number to call? Micklynn was the only
one thus far to whom Wetzon had given her private number.
    The woman behind the counter was
calmly spooning parmesan chicken salad into a plastic container bearing The
Groaning Board logo. A young woman with a swaddled infant in a sling hanging
from her shoulders was inspecting the array of prepared foods in the display
case. The peaceful expression on the sleeping child’s face as it nestled on its
mother’s breast evoked strange emotions in Wetzon. Awe, envy, horror. She
caught herself staring. Child, she thought, make the most of this last zone of
peace in your life; it’s the only nonresponsible time you’ll ever have.
    “May I help you?” the counterwoman
asked.
    “I’m Leslie Wetzon. A.T. and Micklynn
are expecting me.”
    “Go on back. Just watch your step,”
she added apologetically. “There are cables everywhere.”
    She wasn’t kidding. The huge kitchen
area was in total chaos. Cameras and crew, mostly men, cables strewn every- i
where, blinding lights on tall stalks. And in the center of it, pudgy little
Minnie Wu, totally recovered from the debacle at || Smith’s dinner party,
waving her arms around, giving orders. “No! Over there. Higher. That whole grid
of lights. I want them hotter. Hot. Hot. Hot. Can’t anyone do any fucking thing
right?”
    A working counter had been set up in
front of a stove, a refrigerator, and a sink, all of which looked new and
unused.
    It was obvious that this was where
the show would be taped.
    “Leslie!” Wetzon could barely hear
over the hubbub. She looked around. A.T. was waving to her from the staircase.
“Over here.”
    Wetzon picked her way across the
room, concentrating on not bumping cameras or tripping over cables, so she was
unprepared for the blow. It came with such force, slamming into her upper arm
and spinning her around. She tottered wildly but didn’t fall.
    “Hey,” she gasped, the wind knocked
out of her.
    “Sorry,” Minnie said. “Didn’t see
you. Reuben, I need you.”
    Rubbing her arm where she could
already feel the bruise begin to swell, Wetzon said, “Like hell you didn’t see
me.” She could feel Minnie’s eyes scalding her as she began to move toward the
staircase again. “Sure, hit me, burn me, snow me,” Wetzon muttered. “I’ll still
deliver.”
    A.T. came back down the stairs.
“Where’ve you been?” she demanded querulously. “I thought you were right behind
me.”
    “Ask your sister-in-law,” Wetzon
snapped. “Where’s Micklynn?” Micklynn was truly a saint to put up with all
these awful people.
    “Upstairs. She won’t come down and do
the show.“
    “Why don’t you get everything ready,
and I’ll talk to her.” Wetzon nodded toward the maelstrom below.
    “Okay, if you think you can handle
her.” A.T.’s reluctance was all surface. She took off.
    Wetzon opened the door to Micklynn’s
apartment. No one was in the kitchen. “Micklynn? It’s Leslie. What’s happened?
Where are you?”
    “Oh, Leslie,” Micklynn wailed.
    Wetzon followed the wail. No sign of
Micklynn in either dining or living room. The wail drew her upstairs to the
bedroom.
    Micklynn was lying on her back on the
bed in a long white tee shirt, a bottle of wine pressed to her breast. A pair
of blue denim overalls, clean and pressed, hung from a hanger hooked to the top
of a closet door.
    “They’re all waiting for you
downstairs.”
    “Let them wait.” Micklynn sat up and
took a swig of wine. “I knew you’d come.” Another swig. “This is so awful.”
Another swig. “The police—oh, God, I can’t...”
    “I’m working for you, Micklynn. Tell
me.” Wetzon sat down on the edge of the bed.
    Micklynn inhaled with a gasping gulp,
then wiped her face on the sleeve of her tee shirt. “Two detectives came to see
me a couple hours ago. Did you know?” She tilted the bottle into her mouth.
There was very little left. “Did you know?