THE ROOMMATE'S covering for her. . .
A roommate who lived the same life as Lauren? If so, no reason for her to talk to Jane. Or the police. Or anyone else.
Jane Abbot claimed Lauren admired me. I found that hard to believe, but perhaps Lauren had mentioned me to the roommate and I could learn something.
I called the 323 number Jane had given me for Lauren, got another male robot on the machine, hung up without leaving a message.
I thought some more about the path Lauren's life had taken. Given the little I knew about her family life, I supposed there was no reason to be surprised. But I found myself succumbing1 to letdown anyway.
Ten years ago. Two sessions.
When her father had terminated, had I let it go too easily? I really didn't think so. Lyle Teague had never accepted the idea of therapy. Even if I'd managed to reach him by phone, there was no reason to believe he'd have changed his mind.
No reason at all for me to feel I'd failed, and I told myself I felt comfortable with that. But as the afternoon grayed Lauren's disappearance2 continued to chew at me. Just after two P.M. I left the house, gunned the Seville down the glen to Sunset, and headed east, through Beverly Hills and the Strip, to the roller-coaster ramp3 that was the crest4 of La Cienega. Catching5 Third just past the Beverly Center, I picked up Sixth at Crescent Heights and cruised past the tar6 pits. Plaster mastodons reared, and groups of schoolkids gawked. They pull bones out of the pits daily. One of L.A.'s premier7 tourist spots is an infinite graveyard8.
Lauren's apartment on Hauser sat midway between Sixth and Wilshire, a putty-colored six-unit box old enough for fire escapes. I made my way up a chunky cement path to a glass door fronted by wrought-iron fettuccine. Through the glass: dim hallway and dark carpeting. A column of name slots and call buttons listed TEAGUE/SALANDER in apartment 4.
I pressed the button, was surprised to be buzzed in immediately. The hallway smelled of beef stew9 and laundry detergent10. The carpeting was an ancient wool—flamingo-colored leaf forms over mud brown, once pricey, now heeled and toed to the burlap. Mahogany doors had been restained streaky and lacquered too thickly. No music or conversation leaked from behind any of them. A flight of chipped terra-cotta steps at the rear of the building took me upstairs.
Unit 4 faced the street. I knocked, and the door opened before my fist lowered. A young man holding a white washcloth stared out at me.
Five-six, one-thirty, fair-haired and frail-looking, wearing a sleeveless white undershirt, very blue jeans cinched by a black leather belt, black lace-up boots. A heavy silver chain looped a front jeans pocket.
"Oh. I thought you were ..." Breathy-voiced, pitched high.
"Someone else," I said. "Sorry if I'm interrupting. My name's Alex Delaware."
No recognition in the wide, hazel eyes, just residual12 surprise. The fair hair was dun tipped with yellow, clipped nearly to the skull13. Zero body fat, but what was left was string, not bulk. Tiny gold ring in his right earlobe. A tattoo14—"Don't Panic" in elaborate blue-black script—capped his left shoulder. A band of thorns in the same hue15 circled his right biceps. He looked to be around Lauren's age, had the round, unlined face, pink cheeks, and arched brows of an indulged child. As he looked me up and down, surprise began to give way to suspicion. He clenched16 the washcloth, and his head drew back.
"I'm an old acquaintance of Lauren's," I said. "One of her doctors, actually. Her mother called me, concerned because she hasn't heard from Lauren for a week—"
"One of her doctors? Oh . . . the psychologist—yes, she told me about you. I remember your name was one of the states—are you Native American?"
"Kind of a mongrel."
He smiled, pulled at the silver chain, produced a saucer-sized pocket watch. "My God, it's two-forty!" Another eye rub. "I was catching a nap, heard the bell, thought it was three-forty, and jolted17 up."
"Sorry for waking you."
He let the washcloth unfurl, waved it in a tight little arc. "Oh, don't apologize, you did me a favor. I have ... an old friend dropping by, need the time to pull myself together." A hip11 cocked. "Now, why are we having this conversation out in the hall" A bony arm shot forward. His grip was iron. "Andrew Salander—I'm Lauren's roomie."
He swung the door wide open, stepped aside, and let me into a large parlor18 with a high, cross-beamed ceiling. Heavy ruby-and-gold brocade drapes sealed the windows and plunged19 the space into gloom. New smells blew toward me: cologne, incense20, the suggestion of fried eggs.
"Let there be light," said Andrew Salander as he rushed over and yanked the curtains open. A cigar of downtown smog hovered21 above the rooftops of the buildings across the street. Exposed, the living room walls were lemon yellow topped by gilded22 moldings. The cross-beams were gilded as well; someone had taken the time to hand-leaf. French cigarette prints, insipid23 old seascapes in decaying frames, and frayed25 samplers coexisted in improbable alliance on the walls. Deco and Victorian and tubular-legged moderne furniture formed a cluttered26 liaison27. A close look suggested thrift-shop treasures. A keen eye had made it all work.
Salander said, "So Mrs. A called you. Me, too. Three times in as many days. At first I thought she was being menopausal, but it has been six-plus days, and now Fm starting to get concerned about Lo myself."
He pulled a tattered28 silk throw off a sagging29 olive velvet30 divan31 and said, "Please. Sit. Excuse the squalor. Can I get you something to drink?"
"No thanks. It's far from squalid."
"Oh, please." A hand waved. "Work in progress and very little progress at work—Lo and I have been going at this since I moved in. Sundays at the Rose Bowl Swap33 Meet, Western Avenue, once in a while you can still find something reasonable on La Brea. The problem is neither of us has time to really give it our all. But at least it's habitable. When Lo lived hereby herself, it was utterly34 bare—I thought she was one of those people with no eye, no artistic35 sense. Turns out she has fabulous36 taste—it just needed to be brought out."
"How long have you been rooming together?"
"Six months," he said. "I was in the building already—downstairs in Number Two." He frowned, sat on a mock-leopard-skin ottoman, crossed his legs. "Month to month, I was supposed to move out to ... Then things changed, as they so often do, and the landlord leased my space to someone else and suddenly I found myself without hearth37 or home. Lo and I had always had a good rapport—we used to chat at the laundromat, she's easy to talk to. When she found out I was stuck, she invited me to move in. At first, I refused—charity's one of many things I don't do. But she finally convinced me two bedrooms were too much for her and I could share the rent."
A fingertip grazed a plucked eyebrow38. "To be honest, I wanted to be convinced. Being alone's so ... dark. I hadn't . . . And Lo's a wonderful person—and now she's flown off somewhere. Dr. Delaware, do we need to worry? I really don't want to worry, but I must admit, I am bothered."
"Lauren didn't give a clue where she was going?"
"No, and she didn't take her car—it's parked in her space out back. So maybe she did fly off—literally. It's not as if she's a Greyhound girl. Nothing slow suits her, she works like a demon—studying, doing research."
"Research at the U?"
"Uh-huh."
"On what?"
"She never told me, just said that between her classes and research job she had a full plate. You think that's what might've taken her somewhere—the job?"
"Maybe," I said. "No idea who she worked for?"
Salander shook his head. "We're chums and all that, but Lo goes her way and I go mine. Different biorhythms. She's a morning lark39, I'm a night owl32. Perfect arrangement—she's bright and chirpy for classes and I'm coherent when the time rolls around for my work. By the time I wake up, she's usually gone. That's why it took a couple of days to realize her bed hadn't been slept in." He shifted uncomfortably. "Our bedrooms are our private space, but Mrs. A sounded so anxious that I did agree to peek40 in."
"The right thing to do," I said.
"I hope."
"What kind of work do you do, Mr. Salander?"
"Andrew. Advanced mixology." He smiled. "I tend bar at The Cloisters41. It's a saloon in West Hollywood."
Milo and Rick sometimes drank at The Cloisters. "I know the place."
His brows climbed higher. "Do you. So why haven't I seen you before?"
"I've driven by."
"Ah," he said. "Well my Bombay martinis are works of art, so feel free to breeze in." His face grew grim. "Listen to me, Lauren's gone and I'm sitting here prattling— No, Doctor, she never gave me a clue as to where she was headed. But till Mrs. A called I can't say I was ready to panic. Lauren did go away from time to time."
"For a week?"
He frowned. "No, one or two nights. Weekends."
"How often?"
"Maybe every two months, every six weeks—I can't really recall."
"Where'dshego?"
"One time she told me she spent some time at the beach. Malibu."
"By herself?"
He nodded. "She said she rented a motel room, needed some time to decompress, and the sound of the ocean was peaceful. As for the other times, I don't know."
"Those weekends, did she usually take her car?"
"Yes, always. ... So this is different, isn't it?" He rubbed his armband tattoo, wincing42 as if the art were new, the pain fresh. "Do you really think something's wrong?"
"I don't know enough to think anything. But Mrs. Abbot seems to be worrying."
"Maybe Mrs. A's getting us all overwrought. The way mothers do."
"Have you met her?"
"Only once, a while back—two, three months ago. She came to take Lo out to lunch and we chatted briefly43 while Lo got ready. I thought she was nice enough but rather Pasadena, if you know what I mean. Coordinated44 ensemble45, several cracks past brittle46. I saw her as a perfect fiftiesperson—someone who'd drive a Chrysler Imperial with all the trimmings and pile the backseat full of Bullocks Wilshire shopping bags."
"Conservative," I said.
"Staid," he said. "Theatrically47 sad. One of those women fighting the future with mascara and matching shoes and tiny sandwiches with the crust trimmed."
"Doesn't sound like Lauren."
"Hardly. Lauren is tres natural. Unaffected." The washcloth was wadded once more. "I'm sure she's fine. She has to be fine." He sighed, massaged48 the tattoo some more.
I said, "So the time you met Mrs. Abbot, she and Lauren went out to lunch."
"Long lunch—must've been three hours. Lo came back alone, and she didn't look as if she'd had fun."
"Upset?"
"Upset and distracted—as if she'd been hit on the head. I suspected something emotional had gone on, so I fixed49 her a gimlet the way she likes it and asked if she wanted to talk about it. She kissed me here"—he touched a rosy50 cheek—"said it wasn't important. But then she drank every drop of that gimlet and I just sat there emitting that I'm-ready-to-listen vibe—it's what I do, after all—and she—" He stopped. "Should I be telling you this?"
"I'm beyond discreet," I said. "Because of what I do."
"I suppose. And Lauren did say she liked you. ... All right, it's nothing sordid51, anyway. She simply told me she'd spent her childhood fighting not to be controlled, had made her own way in the world, and now her mother was trying to do the same old thing, again."
"Control her."
He nodded.
"Did she say how?"
"No— I'm sorry, Doctor, I'm just not comfortable flapping my trap. There's nothing more to say, anyway. That's the entire kit52 and caboodle."
I smiled at him. Didn't budge53.
He said, "Really, I've told you everything—and only because I know Lo liked you. She came across your name in the paper, some kind of police case, said, 'Hey, Andrew, I knew this guy. He tried to straighten meout.' I made some remark—how it obviously hadn't taken. She thought that was runny, said maybe it was patients like her who'd driven you to quit doing therapy and work with the cops. I"— his cheeks flamed—"I made some crack about shrinks being more screwed up than their patients, asked if you were . . . like that. She said no, you seemed pretty . . . I think conventional was the word she used. I said, how boring, and she said no, sometimes conventional was exactly what you needed. That she'd screwed up, not making good use of her therapy, but looking back it had all been a setup anyway."
"What do you mean?" I said.
"She realized that her parents had set her up to rebel. Tried to use you as a weapon against her, but you hadn't gotten sucked into their game, you had integrity— You're sure I can't get you a drink?"
My throat had gone dry. "A Coke would be fine."
He laughed. "The soft stuff? Recovering juice fiend?"
"No, it's just a bit early for me."
"Trust me, it's never too early. But all right, one cola-bean juice, coming up pronto. Lemon or lime?"
"Lime."
He hurried into the kitchen, returned with a tall drink on ice and a glass of white wine for himself. Settling back down, he rested one elbow on a knee, placed his chin in a cupped palm, stared into my eyes.
I said, "So Lauren felt her mother was trying to control her but she didn't say how."
"And the next day she was going about her business with nary a mention of mama. Truth is, I don't think Mrs. A looms54 large in her life. She's been on her own for years. And that's absolutely all I can tell you about her family dynamics55, so drink up." He drew out the pocket watch.
"Your friend," I said.
"Does Lauren have any friends I could talk to?"
"No."
"No one at all?"
"Not a one. She doesn't date, nor does she chum around with the girls. We're both social isolates57, Doctor. Yet another tie that binds58."
"The night owl and the morning lark," I said.
"Makes for a cozy59 little aviary—this is absolutely the best living ar-rangement I've ever had. Lauren's a living doll and I simply insist that she be okay. Now, if you'd like, I can pour that drink into styrofoam and you can take it to go—"
As charming a dismissal as I'd encountered. Placing the drink on a side table, I stood. "Just a few more questions. Mrs. A said Lauren didn't pack a suitcase."
"I told her that," he said. "I know every item in Lauren's wardrobe— She has luscious60 things. After I moved in I organized her closet. She owns two pieces of luggage—a pair of vintage Samsonites we picked up for a prayer at the Santa Monica flea61 market, and they're both here. So is her backpack from school. And her books. So she must be planning to return."
He began to sip24 wine, stopped himself. "That isn't good, is it? Running off without luggage."
"Not unless Lauren's the impulsive62 type."
"Impulsive as in meet someone hot and fly off to Cuernavaca? That would be nice." He sounded doubtful.
"But unlikely."
"Well," said Salander. "I just don't think that's Lo— If she'd fallen in love, I'd have known. She was a creature of routine: got up, jogged, went to class, studied, went to sleep, got up and did the same thing all over again. To tell the truth, she was a bit of a grind."
"Strict routine except for occasional weekends away."
"Except for."
"She's in between quarters at school," I said. "What's she been doing with her vacation?"
"Going to work."
"The research job."
"A grind," he said. "She'd spend every spare moment studying if I didn't drag her out to do some antiquing."
"Must have paid off," I said. "Mrs. A said she got straight A's."
"Lo was so proud of that. Showed me her transcript63. I thought it was adorable."
"What was?"
"A grown woman, all excited like a little kid — She's studying psychology64, wants to be a therapist herself. You must have been a good influence." Staring at me again. "You haven't touched your drink, is it okay?" I picked up the Coke and drank. "Terrific."
"That's Mexican lime, not Bearss lime. More bite."
More cola flowed down my gullet. "Does the research job pay the bills?"
"Maybe some of it, but Lo also has investments."
"Investments?"
"Some kind of nest egg she put away from when she worked full-time65. She told me she can coast for a few more years before she has to hit the boards again. I give her a lot of credit, giving up something so lucrative66 for the sake of her studies."
"The boards?"
"The runway—modeling," he said. "Nothing Vogue-coverish or anything like that. She worked the Fashion Mart scene since she was eighteen. Made good money but said she detested67 being a brainless face and body— Now, Doctor, I'm sorry to be ill-mannered, but my appointment—it's someone who . . . hurt me. I've been building my courage and finally I'm ready to face him and move on. Please."
He indicated the door and led me out.
I said, "Thanks very much for your time. If you don't mind, I'm going to have a look at Lauren's car out back. What kind is it?"
"Gray Mazda Miata. Don't steal it." Nervous laugh.
I crossed my heart. "No joyrides today."
Louder laughter. We shook hands again.
"I'm not going to worry," he said. "There's no reason to worry."
"I'm sure there isn't."
"Watch," he said. "I'll be sitting here, worrying myself sick, and Lo will come waltzing through this door and I'll scold her for putting all of us through this."
He walked me out into the hall, looked toward the staircase. Chewed his lip. "You're a good listener— Any time you want a career switch, I can get you a job at The Cloisters."
I grinned. "I'll keep that in mind."
He laughed. "No, you won't. For a whole list of reasons."
Out in back was a carport that fronted the alley68. The Miata was the only car parked there, several years old, lots of nicks and dents69, coated with days of dust, locked, its oatmeal-colored canvas top set snugly70. Campus parking sticker on the rear bumper71, Thomas Guide map book in the driver's door pocket, pair of sunglasses on the center console, just below the gearshift. Nothing else.
I returned to the Seville, trying to organize what I'd learned from Salander.
No friends, no dates. A grind.
Rooming with a gay man said Lauren prized companionship, wasn't looking for sex.
Because she was still getting paid for it?
Working the Fashion Mart runway since eighteen. Maybe she really had done some modeling, or perhaps it was just a cover for selling her body in another way.
Weekends by herself. One in Malibu, other times unspecified. Keeping it vague to cover her trail as she met up with clients?
The night owl and the morning lark. If she wanted privacy, Salander was a perfect roommate. Still, the guy was perceptive72. If Lauren had been working at her old profession, wouldn't he have caught on?
Maybe he had and chose not to tell me. My gut73 told me he'd been forthcoming, but you never knew. . . .
I thought of what he'd told me about Lauren's income. Investments. From her working days. Enough to coast for a few years.
I do great with tips.
Good clothes but otherwise living frugally74. Before Salander had moved in, she'd had virtually no furniture. That and the old car said she knew how to make do.
Budgeting but spending on luscious thingsin her closet.
I wondered about the lunch with her mother, Lauren returning dazed and upset, complaining about Jane trying to control her. But that had been two or three months ago—no reason it would lead her to vanish now.
Vanish. Despite my reassurances76 to Salander, I was thinking worst-case scenario77.
Seven days, no luggage, no car, no explanation.
Maybe Lauren would waltz in any minute. Straight-A student returned from a research trip—some professor asking her to attend an out-of-town meeting or convention, deliver a paper. . . . She'd flown somewhere—that could explain no car. But it didn't solve the problem of wardrobe, and why hadn't she let anyone know?
Unless Salander wasn't as familiar with her wardrobe as he claimed and she had packed something. Tossed casual clothes into a bag.
Research ... A project at my alma mater, a psych major, so probably a psych job. At the very department from which I'd obtained my union card.
I headed west on Wilshire, caught snail78 traffic at Crescent Heights—an orange-vested Caltrans crew, stupidest agency in the state, taking petty-fascist satisfaction in blocking off two lanes. I sat, idling along with the Seville, rolled a foot or two, sat some more, finally got past La Cienega. Unmindful of the noise and the dirt. New focus: yearning79 to feel useful.
收听单词发音 |
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succumbing
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的现在分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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ramp
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| n.暴怒，斜坡，坡道；vi.作恐吓姿势，暴怒，加速；vt.加速 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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premier
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| adj.首要的；n.总理，首相 | |
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graveyard
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stew
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| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
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detergent
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| n.洗涤剂；adj.有洗净力的 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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residual
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| adj.复播复映追加时间；存留下来的，剩余的 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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jolted
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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insipid
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| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cluttered
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| v.杂物，零乱的东西零乱vt.( clutter的过去式和过去分词 )；乱糟糟地堆满，把…弄得很乱；（以…） 塞满… | |
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liaison
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| n.联系，（未婚男女间的）暖昧关系，私通 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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swap
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| n.交换；vt.交换，用...作交易 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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peek
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| vi.偷看，窥视；n.偷偷的一看，一瞥 | |
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cloisters
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| n.（学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的）走廊( cloister的名词复数 )；回廊；修道院的生活；隐居v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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wincing
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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coordinated
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| adj.协调的 | |
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ensemble
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| n.合奏(唱)组；全套服装；整体，总效果 | |
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brittle
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| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
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theatrically
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| adv.戏剧化地 | |
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massaged
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| 按摩，推拿( massage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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budge
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| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
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looms
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| n.织布机( loom的名词复数 )v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的第三人称单数 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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dynamics
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| n.力学，动力学，动力，原动力；动态 | |
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flinched
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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isolates
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| v.使隔离( isolate的第三人称单数 )；将…剔出（以便看清和单独处理）；使（某物质、细胞等）分离；使离析 | |
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binds
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| v.约束( bind的第三人称单数 )；装订；捆绑；（用长布条）缠绕 | |
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cozy
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| adj.亲如手足的，密切的，暖和舒服的 | |
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luscious
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| adj.美味的；芬芳的；肉感的，引与性欲的 | |
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flea
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| n.跳蚤 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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transcript
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| n.抄本，誊本，副本，肄业证书 | |
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psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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full-time
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| adj.满工作日的或工作周的，全时间的 | |
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lucrative
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| adj.赚钱的，可获利的 | |
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detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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dents
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| n.花边边饰；凹痕( dent的名词复数 )；凹部；减少；削弱v.使产生凹痕( dent的第三人称单数 )；损害；伤害；挫伤（信心、名誉等） | |
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snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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bumper
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| n.(汽车上的)保险杠；adj.特大的，丰盛的 | |
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perceptive
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| adj.知觉的，有洞察力的，感知的 | |
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gut
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| n.[pl.]胆量；内脏；adj.本能的；vt.取出内脏 | |
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frugally
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| adv. 节约地, 节省地 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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reassurances
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| n.消除恐惧或疑虑( reassurance的名词复数 )；恢复信心；使人消除恐惧或疑虑的事物；使人恢复信心的事物 | |
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scenario
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| n.剧本，脚本；概要 | |
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snail
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| n.蜗牛 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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