“How do you manage to be so content with who you are?” asked Mickey.
Beth just grimaced. “I know you don’t think much of me…”
There were times Mickey didn’t think much of anyone; that’s what made her world such a lonely place. “That’s not true,” she said automatically, then popped a chip into her mouth.
“No, it’s okay. I know what you think and you’re wrong.”
Mickey stopped and swallowed, now more than slightly curious. “What do I think?”
“That I’m a weaker female destined to dilute the genetic line of females everywhere because I believe that man is necessary for the betterment of the species.”
It really did sound like something she would say. When had she gotten so bitter? Oh, yeah, she’d been born that way. “No, that’s not true. Exactly.”
“I think now is a good time for me to learn from you. You’re so focused and independent. You have your life together, and I feel so…needy. Maybe if we hang together, some of you will rub off on me? That is, if you want to.”
And here was Mickey, feeling all smug and superior, when her life was lower than a Jerry Springer show. She was being blackmailed. Because of sex. Sex which she hardly ever had. Oh, the irony. “If only you knew,” Mickey murmured.
“Knew what?” Beth asked, sipping at her wine.
“That focused, independent people whose lives are so together make some of the most nuclear mistakes in the world.”
“No!” Beth exclaimed, and such emphatic disbelief was almost refreshing. As if Mickey was not capable of mental burps. “What kind of mistakes?”
Now came the hard part. Admitting that she—who really considered her only true quality to be her brain—could do something so stupid. “Remember the bachelorette party the other night?”
Beth nodded.
“Remember how I disappeared?”
Again, the head nod.
Mickey took a long drink of alcohol. Even one-hundred proof couldn’t numb the embarrassment. “I can’t do this.”
Sensing imminent meltdown, Beth waved her hand. “Yes, yes, you can.”
Perhaps Mickey should keep her mouth shut. But she’d spent so much of her life needing to angst that silence was impossible. “Oh, all right. I’ve got to tell somebody. After I left the bar, I called up John, this intern at work—he looks all of thirteen—and asked if I could come over.”
“He’s not really thirteen, is he? I can see the headlines. Statutory Seduction: Physicist Charged In Boy-Toy Scandal.”
Mickey coughed as a straight shot of gin came back up her nose. “Oh, yes, that would look good. Thankfully, no, he’s a senior in college. But still…”
Beth nodded. “You know, that’s really very sexy right now. May, December. Woman in the dominant position. That’s not so bad.”
No, that wasn’t the bad part. Mickey took another long, brain-cell-killing dreg of the martini. “He videotaped me. Him. You know, when we were…”
There was no condemnation in Beth’s eyes, only a glow of admiration. “No joke? That’s so adventurous of you. I thought only Cassandra went down the red-light path.”
Adventurous? Yeah, that was one way of looking at it. “I didn’t know.” Mickey took another long drink. “Now he wants to do it again.”
Beth twirled her chip in the bowl of salsa, as if reading the future in the onions and tomatoes. “The taping or the sex?”
“The sex.”
“Just like Pamela Sue…” Then Beth looked up, and her eyes got huge. “Oh…and if you don’t, he’s going to put you on the Internet. Oh, man, I hope you don’t look fat.”
Mickey, who had never considered the fat aspect, shuddered in horror. “I’ve got an article to finish. I’m working the presentation for Heidelman. I’ll be the punch line in every joke for the next decade, playing into every stereotype that exists for the little woman.” She rammed her fist on the table, very un-little woman. “I’ve got to get that tape back.”
“Can you buy it from him?”
“No. I already offered. Stupid jerk.” She’d covered all possible aspects in order to salvage her career. Extortion, bribery, excessive pleading and murder. There was only one solution left. “I think I’m going to steal it,” she announced. It seemed better to state it confidently, as if she thought this could actually work.
“You could get caught,” replied Beth, pointing out the one elephantine flaw.
However, Mickey had already considered that. “That’s why I need a professional.” So Mickey wouldn’t get caught.
“A private detective?”
Mickey glanced around, checking to make sure no big ears were listening. “Nah. I mean a professional criminal. You know, a real thief. Unfortunately, now I’ve got to find somebody. You don’t meet many criminals in the lab.”
“I know just the man,” said Beth, quick as you please.
Amazed, Mickey stared at her with new appreciation. “You really know criminals?”
Beth lifted one eyebrow. “You meet people from all walks of life in a Starbucks. Come in tomorrow about ten. He hangs out at a table near the coffee-mug-clearance shelf in the back.”
Mickey considered it for a moment. It was so tempting. “What do you think he’s into? Drugs?”
Beth shook her head. “I don’t think so. I think he’s a made guy.”
Huh? The foreign terminology made Mickey wonder at the sheltered life she had led. “What’s that?” she asked.
“Part of the Outfit.”
Her jaw dropped open. “No way. A mafia guy?”
Beth preened. “Yup. Right in my own Starbucks. Venti latte. Loaded.”
Starbucks. It was a long way from The Godfather. Times had changed.
Mickey took another sip of the martini. The alcohol was beginning to make everything seem logical. “How do you know that he’s one of Them?”
“I saw his driver’s license once when he flipped open his wallet. Dominic Corlucci.”
Mickey still wasn’t convinced. “Just because he has an Italian name doesn’t mean anything.”
“Trust me, Mickey. A woman gets a sense about these things.”
A scientist would be laughed out of the lab on hunches and womanly instincts, but Beth sounded so sure, even in the absence of any conclusive evidence. Mickey thought instincts ranked right up there with the tooth fairy, and could rationalize the whole thing away with logic and science when she wanted to. That she had inherited from her father.
It all sounded glamorous and possibly real. The Mafia. She took another sip of her drink. She’d always had a major thing for Pacino.
Still, the Mafia.
It wasn’t exactly what she had planned. She’d been thinking of one of those penny-ante types that wore pants that were too short and hung out at the racetrack. In the end, did she really have a choice?
It was her career on the line. Her reputation as a professional and as an astronomer. No way were they going to take away her stars.
The mob ate guys like Monihan for dinner. That made her smile. It’d definitely be worth it. And worst case, she would