Her Thirties Part 81
Abe was making small talk and I was biding my time suspicious of his every move.
When the food arrived, we both got down to the serious business of attacking it with gusto and making plentiful use of the napkins provided.
At length, Abe had his fill and pushed the plates away. I expected him to belch, but he didn’t. He sat back, one arm draped over the chair, sipping beer, eyes crinkling.
“I told you, Pal—best pub food in Toronto.”
I nodded. It was good. For some reason, I was expecting the Wheat sheaf to be a little raunchier and was pleasantly surprised it wasn’t.
I felt relaxed and mellow, sipping my draft, taking in the lively atmosphere.
“I sure wish I had a line on Marilyn’s stalker,” he said out of the blue, as if he were discussing the weather.
“Yeah, it’s bizarre,” I agreed. “That crazy must be really concerned about her.”
“A guy like that ain’t just concerned, Pal—he’s determined to take her out.”
I sipped at my draft, and replied noncommittally, “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”
He nodded and took a sip of his draft. I was matching him, step for step. Just playing out some line and sitting back, pretending to chill—but inside, my brain was racing.
I wanted him to make all the moves. I wanted to observe him in action.
“So, has Marilyn had any more flashbacks?”
“As a matter of fact, she has,” I said coolly.
His eyes grew huge. “Well, c’mon Pal—Let me in on the secret. What did she remember?”
“She remembered the street where she lived—Havelock Street.”
I watched his reaction closely.
“Havelock Street, eh? That’s great—that’s progress!”
He said the right words—maybe even used the right inflection—but I knew he wasn’t really impressed. I wasn’t telling him anything new.
“But you already knew that fact, didn’t you, Abe?”
His face fell. He knew the cat was out of the bag.
“Did Ella tell you?” he asked softly.
“She did—after Marilyn and I paid a visit to Havelock Street.”
I thought he was going to be sick. His face turned white and dark circles stood out under his eyes. He looked defeated.
“I’m sorry, Scott—I was under orders not to tell you.”
“Whose orders—Lambert’s?”
He nodded tiredly. “He didn’t want her upset—especially outside a supervised setting—said it was very dangerous with post-traumatic stress.”
“But why couldn’t you at least tell me what you knew? I wouldn’t have told her.”
“You might have let something slip—especially if you got close to her—which, as it turns out, you did. Besides, Lambert thought pressing her to remember might cause false memories. It was a whole bunch of things.”
I felt myself falling under his spell again and it angered me. I wasn’t buying his, ‘just following orders’ defense.
“But Abe, your whole point of using me to befriend Marilyn was so you could still have an inside track to her. Lambert stopped you from getting close, but you did the next best thing—you used a proxy—me.”
“That sounds very cynical, Scott.”
I was on a roll and didn’t want to turn back.
“You know that conversation we had in the bar at the hockey game—about the young girl whose father committed suicide—Did you make that up?”
His face flushed. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“To soften me up—maybe make me more receptive to Marilyn’s case—another young girl caught up in secrets from the past.”
“That’s great Shakespeare—I’m sure your mind works that way—but mine sure as hell doesn’t. C’mon Scott—you know me—I’m no literary scholar. What you just said, tells more about you, than it does me.”
It was my turn to color. This sure as hell wasn’t going the way I thought. Maybe I was being paranoid.
“Okay, Abe—I’ll buy that. But you did know the truth about Marilyn’s identity and you must have known I’d feel duped by you, when it finally came out.”
He shrugged. “I’ll grant you that, Pal—it didn’t make me feel good holding back the facts from you. As a matter of fact, I began feeling guilty when I got to know you, and if you recall, I tried to give you a chance to back out.”
He was right. He did do that—and based on what Mitzy told Marilyn, he went out of his way to protect us. Still, I now needed to know what he knew.
“Okay,” I sighed, “let’s lay our cards on the table. Let’s tell each other everything we know.”
I prayed Abe was on the level—if he wasn’t, I’d be devastated.
Oh, so Abe isn't forthcoming..hmm. Scott is really flirting with danger, just to help Abe and perhaps Abe will share a bit more. Scott's already in love with Marilyn, so it's not like he will love her any less.
Yes, I think the next instalment should bring clarity
“That’s great Shakespeare—I’m sure your mind works that way—but mine sure as hell doesn’t. C’mon Scott—you know me—I’m no literary scholar. What you just said, tells more about you, than it does me.”
Abe knows more about Shakespeare than he lets on. Says I:)
You're probably right about Shakespeare but I think Abe made a point - Scott should reserve judgment until he gets the facts
The wheat post seemed very good
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Thanks for sharing this photography i love your post
You are the real deal!!.. Nice write up
Nice billbord looking good
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