Untitled (6 page)

   And if they weren't having a knock-down, drag-out argument.

   How did I know?

   Well, I admit, it
was
six o'clock in the evening, and as usual, Alexandria traffic was bumper to bumper. A horn blared. One of the drivers gunned his engine. I couldn't hear a thing Brad and the woman said to each other. But I didn't need to.

   I could see Brad's mouth pull into a sneer. I watched as the woman pointed a finger right at his nose. He snorted. She stepped back, a hand on her hip.

   His cheeks were an unbecoming shade of maroon. His mouth opened and closed furiously, and even over the noises of traffic, I clearly heard the words "none of your business." When Brad whirled around to walk away, the woman followed.

   So did another woman, one who'd been standing in the shadows of the doorway of the urban gear store. She had a tiny brown, white, and black dog on the end of a leash studded with rhinestones. The dog was wearing a rhinestone collar that matched the rhinestone choker around the woman's neck. Their sweaters matched, too: black angora with white trim.

   I'd recognize the dog anywhere.

   It was Doctor Masakazu.

   The woman holding on to his leash looked a whole lot like Penelope Cruz.

   I doubled my pace and caught up to Eve and Doc in no time flat, and I guess the fact that I was out of breath by the time I did explains why I didn't ease into the conversation. My words bumped over the breaths I took to try to slow my heart rate.

   "I thought you said you were going to be careful. That you knew Brad could be dangerous. That you weren't going to follow him." None of this was true, of course. Eve had never promised anything of the sort. But I blurted it out, anyway, hoping that the distance of a week would have made our conversation on the subject a little hazy in Eve's mind.

   No such luck.

   I'd grabbed her arm to hold her back, and she shrugged me off and looked past me to where Brad and the blonde were still going at it.

   "I didn't say that, Annie. You did. I said I owe it to the sisterhood of women to do what I can to eliminate the Weasel plague of the Brads of this world."

   I don't know where she found the time, but something told me Eve had attended a recent WOW meeting.

   I knew with a fresh dose of ideology coursing through her veins, there was no way I was going to change her mind, so I didn't even try. At the same time I stooped to scratch Doc's ears, I looked over at Brad and the woman. "Who is she?" I asked Eve.

   "That's Valerie. You remember, Valerie Conover. The woman who didn't get the job at the Department of Labor because of Brad." Eve made a face. "She promised she'd leave the following up to the experts."

   I almost asked who she was talking about. I bit my tongue.

   "So you're following Brad, and you didn't know Valerie was, too?"

   "That's right. She said she wouldn't, but I guess she couldn't resist. But of course, she's not as good at it as I am." I finished patting Doc, and Eve lifted him into her arms. "I followed Brad all the way from the Metro station, and he never caught on. Then Valerie muscled in on my territory. Of course, he noticed her right away. That's when they started fighting. I was going to come to her aid, you know, the way they teach us to at WOW. Every sister helping every other sister. But . . ." When she'd stooped, Eve's wig had tilted to the left, and she straightened it. "I didn't want to blow my cover."

   "It looks like Valerie's holding her own, anyway." Even as I looked down the street to make sure Valerie was still OK, she turned her back on Brad and walked away. He watched her for a minute, and I could just about see the steam coming out of his ears. When she turned a corner, Brad spun in the opposite direction and marched on toward Bellywasher's.

   "There. It's over." I looked back at Eve. "You can go home now. It's dinnertime. I'll bet Doc's hungry."

   "Doc ate before we left the house. And I brought along some snacky-wackies for him." Eve and the dog rubbed noses. "Besides . . ." She looked at me over Doc's head, "you're trying to change the subject."

   "The subject is that there is no subject. You're not going to find out anything about Brad by following him around. Nothing useful, anyway."

   Eve's lips thinned. "Well, I found out Valerie is following Brad when she promised she wouldn't. That might be useful."

   "Or not." The clock was ticking and, Weasel hunt or no Weasel hunt, I needed to get to the restaurant. Aside from setting up my workstation, I needed to take care of my skirt. I plucked it away from my legs, and it immediately settled back into place.

   I had to move, and I had to move quickly. I could think of only one way to placate Eve and send her home.

   "I'll tell you what . . ." I heaved a sigh. Even before I did, I think Eve knew I was about to surrender. She smiled.

   I pretended not to notice.

   "I'll do some digging," I promised. "But not tonight. Tomorrow. On my lunch hour. I'll get on the computer at work and see what I can find out about Brad. Until then, promise me you'll steer clear."

   "Cross my heart." Eve did, and she crossed Doc's, too, just for good measure. "And if you find out anything we can use to nail that sucker to the wall—"

   "You'll be the first to know. Really. But right now . . ." I gulped down my misgivings and started walking. When Eve fell into step at my side, I held her back with one hand. "Not you. You're not coming anywhere near Bellywasher's tonight."

   "I just want to get a bottle of Pellegrino for Doc. I swear I won't confront Brad. I'll duck into the kitchen, take the water into your office, and—"

   "It's not Brad I'm worried about." We were near the restaurant now, and I stopped so that Eve would have to, too.

   "It's you," I told her. "I don't want you anywhere near the place when it goes up in smoke."

       My plan was to get into the kitchen as quickly as I could and try and get myself organized. Right after I was done saying a whole bunch of prayers.

   No such luck.

   No sooner had the front door of Bellywasher's closed behind me than I found out I wasn't alone.

   "Hi, Annie. I'm glad you're here. I've been waiting for you." Kegan popped out from behind the sandalwood screen that separated the entry area of the restaurant from the spot where we had our tables. He gave me that shy smile of his, the one that made him look like a kid. The weather was a tad warmer this week than it had been the first night of class, and he'd topped off his rumpled khakis with a raggy and well-worn T-shirt.

   Don't Panic, Eat Organic.

   I recognized the phrase as something he'd said to Brad the week before.

   Kegan's cheeks were as red as the tomato on his shirt must once have been. "I was hoping we could talk," he said. "You know, before class starts."

   I gulped down the spurt of mortification that brought back the ugly scene of the week before. I had hoped the incident was behind us and wondered how many others of our students would show up tonight and demand a refund. Didn't it figure, on the one night Jim wasn't there to charm them into changing their minds.

   My shoulders drooped. "You're quitting. I can't blame you. What Eve said about Brad, that was really out of line. But if you give us another chance—"

   His chuckle cut me off. "Gosh, Annie, you're so considerate. Always thinking about other people and how they feel. That's really nice, but trust me, it's not what I want to talk to you about. I want to talk to you . . . you know . . . about greening up the restaurant."

   I breathed a sigh of relief. Right before my breath stuck in my throat. That was because I glanced at the clock that hung above the bar. Since I'd taken the job at Bellywasher's, I'd learned there was something in the industry called
bar time
. That meant our clock was set twenty minutes later than the actual time so that customers could be cleared out by closing. Even though I knew that, I also knew the clock was ticking away. And every tick brought me closer to the inevitable start of the night's class.

   "I'd like to talk. Really," I told Kegan. I wasn't sure that was true, but he was right, I did always think about how other people felt. If I was going to disappoint him, I wanted to let him down easy. "But I don't have a lot of time right now. I've got to set up my workstation in the kitchen, and this skirt of mine!" I groaned and plucked my skirt away from my thighs. "I need static spray, and I need it bad."

   With any other guy, I might have been embarrassed, but hey, this was Kegan. When he checked out my skirt, I didn't flinch. He was so sweet and so understanding, I guess I was beginning to think of him as a friend.

   "Aerosols are bad for the ozone," he said. "Try washing your clothes with wild soapwort. That will help with the static. Soapwort is a perennial plant, and you can get some of it over at an herb shop in Fredericksburg. I'll get you the phone number. You stir it into water until it lathers and then—"

   "Thanks. Really, Kegan, I appreciate the advice, and I'll give it a try. It's just that right now—"

   "I know. You're busy. This is a bad time. But really, Annie, you'll be happy with what you can do around here. There are plenty of ways that greener means saving money."

   He had me there. "I need to get ready for class," I said. "And I don't have a lot of time to chat. How about if we schedule some time to sit down and talk about it?"

   How nice of a guy was Kegan? Instead of taking my

brush-off personally, he fell into step beside me and offered to help. Together we went into the kitchen, and because it looked as if I wasn't going to get to use it anytime soon, I tucked the bag that contained the antistatic spray on a shelf to the left of the stove. I slipped an apron over my head, got one of the trays of chicken wings that Damien had prepared for me out of the cooler, and turned on the oven to preheat.

   With that under control, I checked the night's menus and the list of supplies that Jim had tacked up on a bulletin board. "We're going to need the big wok for the ratatouille," I told Kegan. "It isn't something we use very often. I think it's in the supply closet." I pointed the way and hoped for the best. Though I was the world's most organized person, I had long ago vowed to keep my nose out of Jim's kitchen. For his sake and for mine. The office is my bailiwick, the kitchen is Jim's, and my office, needless to say, is a picture of neatness and order.

   The kitchen supply closet . . .

   When Kegan opened the door, I squeezed my eyes shut, held my breath, and hoped nothing fell out and clunked him on the head.

   Between Jim, Marc, and Damien (each with their own ideas of how things should be done and where things should be kept), a hectic kitchen schedule that didn't include much downtime for sorting and organizing, and the whole cooksas-creative-people-with-artistic-temperaments thing, the closet was Bellywasher's own version of a black hole. I knew that even to start looking for the wok, Kegan would have to pick his way through a minefield of stockpots, chafing dishes, and plastic containers that contained the serving pieces we used for private parties and luncheons. When he disappeared into the closet, I whispered a heartfelt,
"Via
con Dios,"
and when he came out again holding the wok, I have to say, I was glad to see he'd sustained no permanent injuries.

   I was grateful that he'd put himself in mortal danger for the sake of my cooking class. And he had mentioned saving money. As I found and arranged the ingredients I'd need to make the wing sauces, I got back to what we'd been talking about earlier.

   "You really stand up for what you believe in when it comes to the environment, don't you?" I asked him. Right after I showed him where to put the wok, of course.

   The tips of Kegan's ears got red. "I try," he said. "I know some people think it's corny—"

   "No, not at all! I mean, think of what the world would be like without people like you. Our lakes and rivers are cleaner than they used to be. And there isn't as much litter along the sides of the roads, and—"

   "There's still such a long way to go." Disappointed, he shook his head. "And still so much work to do. Sure, there are lakes and rivers that have made a comeback. But there are plenty more that still won't support life, thanks to the chemicals and other pollutants we pour into them. We do things like say we're protecting whole species of birds, but at the same time, we chop down the forests that are their habitats. It's crazy, Annie, but I'm glad you're at least thinking about it. That's where it all starts, you know. With people thinking about the problem. As soon as they do, they see that we're right. The only way to see a difference is to make a difference."

   It sounded like one of the mottos Eve had learned from her sisters at WOW, but I didn't hold that against Kegan. He was an intelligent advocate. I admired that, and I told him so.

   Color raced up his neck and into his cheeks. "I'm no hero," he said, and even though I hadn't used that word, I guess that's how I made it sound. "I actually came to appreciate the problem only a short time ago. It was my grandpa Holtz, you see." Kegan looked down at the floor, and for a couple minutes, he didn't say anything at all. When he looked back my way, his eyes shone with tears.

   "For forty years, Grandpa worked at a chemical company

in a little place called Crayswing, Pennsylvania. His plant made pesticides. I'm not exactly sure what he did, but he wasn't an executive or anything. He worked in the factory. Of course, back when he got the job, they said they didn't suspect that the stuff those guys were breathing in every day was slowly killing them."

   "You mean . . ." I had to clear away the lump in my throat before I continued. "What happened to him?"