“MRS. VIVIEN,” THE BUTLER said, “is about to go out.”
In the background I heard a woman's voice ask, “Who is it Loring?”
I said, “My name is Albert Samson. I was the detective at her murder dinner last week. And it is very important that I speak to her.”
“An Albert Samson, madam,” Loring said.
“Tell her it's important,” I said.
But he didn't.
And then there was nothing. And it seemed to go on forever.
“Hello?” I said eventually. “Is anybody out there?”
Nobody answered but neither was there a dial tone. I stayed with it.
At last an extension was lifted and another hung up. Charlotte Vivien said, “Mr. Samson?”
“Thank you for speaking to me, Mrs. Vivien.”
“What is it that you want?”
“I need to see you.”
“Oh yes? And what would that be about?”
“I'm working on an urgent case and a matter has come up that means I need to ask you to identify something.”
“Me? Me specifically?”
“Yes. No one else will do. It is something that I am told used to be yours.”
“Good heavens. What?”
“It's a dress.”
“What dress?”
“I'm not good at describing clothes but I have a picture of it. I will really have to show it to you.”
She paused for a long time.
I said, “Mrs. Vivien?”
She said, “As I recall, Mr. Samson, the last time we talked you wouldn't do something I asked you to. How do you have the nerve to ask a favor of me?”
“I wouldn't if it weren't very important. I know it sounds crazy, but it isn't. I will meet you anywhere at your convenience. If you can spare me a few minutes, just tell me where and when. I'll be there.”
She sighed. “All right, Mr. Samson. A few minutes.”
“Thank you.”
“There is a bar on East Washington Street called McGinley's. It's a few blocks past East Street. I'll meet you there at eight-thirty.”
“I'll find it.”
“It has a second room, with tables.”
“O.K.”
She hung up.
I didn't know McGinley's but it couldn't take long to find. Eight-thirty gave me a couple of hours.
I looked around the office. Two hours. I didn't know how I should spend them. I looked at my notebook. Potential clients to call back. I looked at the telephone.
So it rang.
“Albert!” Frank said. “Hey, great, wasn't it!”
“What?”
” 'What?' 'What?' Hey, everybody, he says, 'What?' Isn't this the coolest dude you'll ever meet!”
“Frank, stop pulling your wick and tell me what you're talking about.”
“The commercial, of course! Everybody is raving about it.” Everybody?
“I haven't seen it,” I said.
“Haven't seen it! Albert, baby!”
I choked momentarily and Frank used the time to say, “I'm at Lucy's mother's. I've got a tape. Come over. All the people from the department are on their way.”
“The police department?”
Frank laughed heartily. “You are a natural, Albert, a real natural. That's what they're all saying. I won't claim that I realized it when we did the session but in the editing room it was obvious.”
“What was obvious?”
“On tape you project an amateurish professionalism that is completely irresistible.”
“I do?”
“Absolutely, utterly, irresistible. Lip-lickin' finger-poppin' good.”
“Before you start foaming at the mouth put Lucy's mother on the phone, will you?”
“Ah, love is about sharing triumph. I can relate to that.”
“Put her on the phone, Frank!”
My woman came to the telephone. I said, “Is he being committed or is he going voluntarily?”
“They're having a little party,” she said. “You're the guest of honor. Are you coming?”
“What is this all about, kid?”
“The success of the first commercial for the Albert Samson Investigative Services Agency. ASISA.”
“The what?”
“When they realized that the acronym was a palindrome it blew their minds.”
“What minds?”
“Lucy did the graphics, and all the high-tech stuff sets off your aimless stuttery wholesome innocence beautifully.”
“Is he contagious or something?”
“The cable company even had two calls from people saying how much they liked the commercial and asking when it would be broadcast again. Frank has booked it for two more weeks and he is considering giving up his 'filmic' ambitions to start his own ad agency.”
“Somewhere in La-La Land?”
“So you haven't seen it?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I haven't seen it.”
“You should.”
“Oh. Right.”
“I haven't felt your basic attractiveness so intensely for years.”
“My what?”
“You come across well. And Frank has packaged it well. The only question is whether anybody who wants a private eye watches commercials on Cab-Co.”
“I had calls from five different people while I was out.”
“Albert, that's wonderful!”
“I guess so.”
“What's the problem?”
“I thought it might be a joke.”
“Honestly! And does that mean you haven't called any of them back?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, I'll get off the phone,” she said. There was a sound behind her. “Frank says, could you bring some money? He needs another eight hundred dollars.”
“Don't we all.”
“Sort it out with him yourself.”
“Look, I don't know whether I'm going to be able to get there. I've got an appointment on the east side at eight-thirty.”
“I thought you hadn't called any of those people.”
“It's about another case.”
“Suddenly it's nonstop business, eh?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Well,” my woman said, “you could sound a little more cheerful about it.”
But I didn't call any of the message-leavers.
My brain was too full.
I wandered around my rooms for a few minutes. Then went downstairs to say hello to Mom. She'd like to hear about the response to the commercial. Might mean she'd get some rent one day.
But Mom wasn't there.
Nor was there any sign of Norman.
I went back up and studied Bobbie's drawing of Wool Glove Woman and wrote up what I had done for the Animals and then did nothing very useful at all.