“So what they have in common seems to be,” Susan said, and smiled, “Gary Eisenhower.”
“And rich older husbands,” I said.
“And perhaps some evidence of promiscuity,” Susan said. “I mean, every young wife doesn’t cheat on her husband. Why did he think these women would?”
“Maybe they are the result of an exhaustive elimination process,” I said.
“Despite what I’ve said, it may be optimistic to think it requires an exhaustive process,” Susan said.
“So lovely, and yet so cynical,” I said.
“My line of work,” she said. “The success rate is not always startling.”
“Hell,” I said. “Neither is mine.”
“I suppose, though,” Susan said, “that we are both optimists in some sense. We believe that things can be made better.”
“And sometimes we’re right,” I said.
“That’s part of the payoff, isn’t it,” Susan said.
“Yes,” I said. “Plus, of course, the fee.”
Chapter 4
ABIGAIL LARSON had seemed the most lively of my four clients. So I tried her first. She lived in Louisburg Square. But she wanted to meet at the bar at the Taj. Which was once the Ritz-Carlton. But the Ritz had opened a new location up on the other side of the Common, and the name moved up there.
Except for the unfortunate name, the Taj hadn’t changed anything. So the bar was still good, and the view from a window table of the Public Garden across Arlington Street was still very good. It was ten to four in the afternoon, on a Thursday, and I had snared us a window table. Abigail was twenty minutes late, but I had been trained by Susan, who was always late except when it mattered. And I remained calm.
I stood when she came in. The bartender waved at her, and two waiters came to say hello as she came toward my table. She put out her hand. I shook it, one of the waiters held her chair, and she sat. She ordered a lemon-drop martini and smiled at me.