The Groaning Board

nothing?“
    “No, darling. Not at all. It’s your
life. You have to decide how important he is to you and whether it’s worth how
you’re feeling.”
    “Carlos, tell me honestly, what did
you think of Silves-tri?”
    “Hmmm. What a question.” He kissed
her sweaty forehead and steered her over to the bar. “Bartender, two icy-cold
Amstels,” he said. When the bottles were produced, he put a five-dollar bill on
the counter and opened both bottles, handing one to Wetzon.
    “So?”
    “So what?” He took an elephant
swallow.
    “Don’t try to get out of it.
Silvestri. What did you think? I need to know.”
    “Okay. I liked him ’cause he loved
you.”
    “But?”
    “Who said anything about a but?”
    “I’m saying it, I guess. We
misunderstood each other all the time. The relationship was such hard work. He
was such hard work. We had very little in common. He never really was more than
a transient in my life. He never wanted to be more.”
    “Okay. Okay. You’ve convinced me.”
    “I have a fuller relationship with
Bill Veeder than I ever had with Silvestri.”
    “Ahhh, so. Look at it this way.”
Carlos crossed his eyes. “There is no such animal as a perfect relationship.”
    “You and Arthur.”
    “Close. But Arthur is a solid
citizen. He’s not dangerous. I miss that in my life—the high, the abandon...
you know...” He winked the most lecherous of winks and rolled his hips at her.
“You know... what you have with Billy Veeder.”
    “Outrageous. That’s what you are.”
    “An’ ole Billy, he’s safe too. He
ain’t gonna ask you to marry him while the wife lives.”
    “So what are you saying? I should
snap out of it?”
    “I’m saying, Birdie darling, throw
away your white plume and forget about that crap in the papers and do what
makes you happy. Does Veeder make you happy? Think about it. You don’t have to
answer me.”
    “Yeah.”
    “It doesn’t strike me that you’re
lonely, babes, and need some man to fulfill you.”
    “I’m not and I don’t, but he does.
Does that make sense?”
    “Not especially, but that’s all
right. It doesn’t have to make sense to me, just to you. Are you danced out?”
    “Yup. Can we walk for a while?”
    They strolled onto Lexington Avenue, sated, and headed west. It was on the tip of Wetzon’s tongue to say
something about Veeder and Ellen, when Carlos said, “Now that we’ve settled
your life problem, tell me about Mickey. She was not exactly what you would
call well adjusted and she had a major drinking problem. But suicide?”
    “It wasn’t suicide, Carlos. She was
murdered.”
    “Birdie, darling, you have murder on
the brain. Who would want to murder her?”
    “Well, let’s see. There’s a regular
lineup. Hem and A.T. because she refused to allow The Groaning Board to go
public. Her cousin’s kid, Ellen, because Ellen thought she might inherit.
Ellen’s boyfriend Todd because Micklynn hated him. For that matter, even Laura
Lee and Bill Veeder have financial motives. And then there’s Minnie Wu. She’s
just plain mean. She doesn’t need a motive.”
    “But she did have one, Dear Heart.
Although many moons have passed and water’s gone under the bridge and gift horses
have been looked in the mouth, Min bristles with grudges. She never forgave
Mickey for her affair with Hem.“
    “Poor old Hem. The women just can’t
stay away from him. Do you mind if we walk up Fifth a way?”
    “Where a way?”
    “The Museum Tower. Do you mind?”
    “Not at all. But don’t think I’m
going to leave you there just like that.”
    “Why not?”
    “It’s eleven o’clock, Birdie darling.
What if he’s not home. What if he’s otherwise engaged?”
    “Oh, God, Carlos. Do you think—?”
    “I think nothing. We’ll just stop and
ask the concierge to ring him up. Then we’ll see.”
    “Honestly, Carlos. I am forty years
old.”
    “Don’t argue with me, Birdie,” he
said sternly.
    The Museum Tower stood an elegant
understatement next door to and above MOMA, the Museum of Modern Art. It was
arguably the most expensive multiple dwelling in the City.
    The doorman tipped his hat and
actually said, “Good evening, Ms. Wetzon.” They passed through a revolving door
and entered the sleekly modern lobby of natural wood, marble, black leather,
and an expressionistic sculpture.
    The concierge’s desk was high and
curved against the left wall. “Good evening, Ms. Wetzon,” the concierge said. He
was a tall man with the build and