Relax!"
Gelsey, panting, let her arms hang loose. Finally, she thought, the torment is over, at least for a while.
Tracy, in street clothes, was gesturing to her from the doorway. Gelsey approached through the mob of exhausted, sweaty women.
"Hi! You missed class."
"Gotta talk to you." Tracy's tone was urgent.
"Sure. Just let me take a shower."
Tracy shook her head. "Please! I've only got a couple minutes."
Gelsey shrugged. They descended to the snack bar. Gelsey ordered a bottle of mineral water, Tracy a Diet Coke.
"You look terrible," Gelsey said. "What's the matter?" i racy stared at her. "You did a number down at the Savoy."
Gelsey stared back, frightened. "You know about that?"
"Considering what happened there, a lot of people know."
There was a look of reproach on Tracy's face. "Why don't you stop beating around the bush," Gelsey said.
"The mark was killed."
"I know. I saw the story on TV. But it had nothing to do with me, Tracy.
He didn't OD. He was shot."
"The bar waiter saw him pick up a redhead. The cops say he was drugged, then shot while he slept. They say there was mirror writing on his body."
Gelsey cut her off. "How do you know all this?"
"Diana got it from Thatcher, who got it from his buddies in the cops.
They're showing around a picture. Take a look."
She handed Gelsey a photocopy of a sketch. The words "Wanted for Questioning" were printed at the top. Getsev stared at it. It was a crudely drawn frontal view. She didii I I think it looked like her, or much like her dream-sister either.
"Who's this supposed to be?"
"Thatcher recognized you."
Gelsey didn't believe it. She was sure the mirror writing, had tipped Thatcher. "Do you see me in this?"
"A little. The wig makes you look different, but the eyes are right."
She stared at Gelsey again. "You really didn't do it?"
Gelsey met Tracy's stare head-on. "Here's what happened. I did a number and, yeah, I wrote on the mark. But I promise you I left him asleep. I don't own a gun. I'm extremely careful with dosages.
Anyway, do you think I could shoot a person while he slept?"
Tracy shook her head. "Diana does. She's furious, Gelsey. She says you've ruined the business."
"She would say that."
"It's true. We're not going out here now. We've been working hotels in Philly the last few nights. Diana says we may have to move the operation to Baltimore until this thing blows over." Tracy looked away.
"She wants us to find you. She wants to turn you in."
"I see." Gelsey nodded. "That's why you're here."
"No, dummy! You're my friend… even if you won't tell me where you live. Trouble is, Diana knows we're close. She asked me if I still saw you. I said no, but I don't think she believed me. I'm dreading the moment she decides I'm lying." Tracy paused. "You know how she gets. I I "I know.
Indeed, Gelsey thought, there was no resisting Diana; if she decided to put on the pressure, Tracy would be forced to talk. That meant they couldn't see each other anymore. The thought made Gelsey sad. She'd never had many friends; now Tracy was the only one. It would hurt to lose her. She'd be more isolated than ever. But if she really was a murder suspect and Diana wanted to turn her in, then, she knew, she would have to sacrifice the friendship. The important thing was not to panic.
"Okay," she said, "here's what we'll do. If Diana starts in on you, don't fight it. Tell her we used to meet here for workouts, then a couple of months ago we had a big fight and you haven't seen me since.
Don't worry, I'll start going to another gym." She picked up a napkin.
"Give me a pencil. I want to give you my number. I want us to stay in touch."
Tracy shook her head. "I think it would be better if I didn't have it."
"Sure, I understand. Thing is, I don't want to lose you." Gelsey thought a moment. "There's a supermarket across the street. They've got a community bulletin board near the salad bar. We can leave messages there. Put up a notice you have kittens for sale, then write what you want to tell me on the back. I'll do the same." She paused.
"I want you to know I didn't shoot the guy and I don't know who did."
"I believe you," Tracy said, standing, "but someone did and the cops think it's you. Better stay out of the bars, Gelsey. And stay away from Diana. The way she sees it, you've fucked up her business. You know what that means?"
Gelsey knew: It meant Diana would just as soon see her dead.
Driving back to Richmond Park, she thought about Diana, her coldness, cruelty, exploitation of her girls and total devotion to "the game."
There was also a nurturing side that had attracted Gelsey at first, a kind of parallel to the nurturing she now received from Erica. Except that with Diana there could be no act of generosity that would not immediately rebound to her advantage, while with Erica, the quality of an artist's work was always more important than the profits gained from its sale.
Gelsey smiled as she remembered Diana's organized outings to the Museum of Modern Art, where she would point out important paintings and make sure each girl could properly pronounce the artists' names:
"The man who painted this was named Henri Matisse Come on, girls! Let's hear you say it: '-ri Matisse." To that the group would respond in unison, imitating Diana's phony pronunciation, after which Diana would continue the cultural lesson:
"Now, remember, girls-Mr. Matisse is famous for his bright colors, strong designs and love of flowers and the God! What a hoot!
But the sketch Tracy had given her wasn't funny. It was even more frightening than the TV report that Dietz had been killed. They had a good idea of what she looked like. Maybe she should turn herself in.
But then what would happen? If she went to the detective with the searching eyes and told him her story, would he believe her? And even if he did, wouldn't he arrest her for robbing Dietz?