TPOV
I wasn’t expecting this petite, slightly unkempt detective to be the best Private Eye in the five boroughs. And I definitely didn’t expect the name “Red” to be associated to a woman no less. But Red Rosenberg looked like she was nothing but trouble with a capital T.
Even from a distance she looked cold, hard and dangerous. And in that gray tailored suit, sexy too. Can’t forget that, Tara-Rose. Those types usually were. Alexander had told me about them, saying that the Rosenberg’s were the best in the business. Hard to work with, but the best. And who was I to call someone else difficult anyways? Alexander had heard of Rosenberg Investigations through a few friends and had even met the now deceased Ira Rosenberg at a pool hall a few years back. I wasn’t sure at first that I needed to hire a private detective; after all, I spoke to the Police Officers and they said it was an open and shut case. That my father had passed away from a heart attack, end of story. Only I was pretty sure that it wasn’t end of story. The more I thought about it over the weekend, the more I realized that I could not rest until I knew, for certain, that there was nothing out of the ordinary with my father’s untimely death. One name was on constant loop, repeating itself over and over again in my head these past forty-eight hours, Rosenberg.
“That’s the Detective, Red Rosenberg, isn’t it, Alexander?” I questioned softly through the glass divider of the car as I watched her walk into the diner, hat on and head low, keeping her face shielded from the wind. I was separated by glass all around me. Separated from where Alexander sat in the front seat of the glossy black Chrysler Imperial by glass. Separated by the glass of the car window and then separated again by the glass pane of the diner from Detective ‘Red’ Rosenberg. I lived in a glass box with everyone looking in at me, watching my every move, and waiting to see what I would do next. It allowed me to take in others as well, though, and that is what I was doing. I sat watching her, sleuthing the detective. The thought was somewhat amusing to my slightly hysterical mind.
“I do believe that’s the Detective, Tara-Rose. I didn’t realize it would be a broad though. Hard to tell with a name like ‘Red’,” he answered somewhat apologetically; resting his arm on the back of his seat and slightly turning to look at me. A few short years ago he would have referred to me as Miss. Maclay or even Miss Tara-Rose. Things changed a lot in a few years, though. We had a thing together, Alexander and me, short lived as it was. Daddy knew and approved of our relationship, if you could even call our one date a relationship. Daddy had always told me that class does not divide us, attitude does. I think that’s one of the things that made Daddy such a good businessman; he never looked down his nose at people. I tried hard to do the same and follow in his footsteps. That’s why, when Alexander asked me out, I had acquiescent his offer. He took me out, we went dancing, and I learned more from Alexander about the city and the world than I had from nearly anyone else. I also learned through our one kiss shared at the end of the night; that I had no feelings for him, or any man for that matter and he in turn, was very gracious in accepting the fact that the only love I could ever give him was platonic. Alexander and I mutually decided that our relationship worked better as just friends and we remained as such. He stayed on staff and it didn’t prove to be uncomfortable. Alexander was a good egg and still one of my very closest confidants. I didn’t have many so it made me hold tight to the ones I did have.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to join your meeting?” Alexander offered to me as I continued to watch the diner out the back passenger window. I was no longer able to see Miss. Rosenberg. Instead, I watched the pigeons looking for crumbs and the people bustling by, eager to get wherever they were going. I was stalling and I knew it. Alexander’s offer to escort me was a tempting one. It would have been so much easier to have Alexander there during my meeting with the Detective. Security and a friend rolled into one. But I knew that this was something that I needed to do alone. I needed to start relying on myself now that Daddy was no longer here to watch over me and protect me. I shook my head in answer to Alexander’s question, my hair moving gently around my shoulders with the motion.
Leaning back on the ivory white seat, I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. The car still smelled of cigars and my father’s cologne and it surrounded me, enveloped me. I wondered how long it would stay that way before the smell would completely disappear. Oh Daddy. A few small tears made their way to the corners of my eyes and I gently dabbed them dry. My embroidered handkerchief never seemed to leave my hand, although I knew I’d have to toughen up to do what needed to be done. I reached in my purse for the silver compact engraved with the letters MRM. Margarete Rose Maclay. It was one of the few things I’ve held on to that was my mother’s. I flipped the compact open to make sure everything was still in place. Make-up and hair both looked perfect, as was expected from the now owner of Le Beau Cosmetics. Even in my darkest hours, when my world was filled with sadness like I’d never experience, my appearance had to remain perfect. It’s what everyone expected of me. I took the powder puff and lightly dabbed on a quick coat of powder to freshen my face. The cold metal warmed quickly, pressed into my hand, and I traced the three letters etched into the silver. I had few memories of Momma, I was so young when she passed. But I remembered her using this compact and it gave me a connection to her that I was otherwise so often lacking.
Sighing and pulling myself together, I moved to pull on my mink sole and get out of the car. Alexander watched me through the rearview mirror and exited the driver’s seat. He tipped his hat and swung open my door for me, offering his hand as I stepped out of the car. He looked a bit concerned as his eyes met mine.
“Tara, be careful. Word on the street is that the Detective’s a bit of a hothead,” he warned as he shut the door behind me.
“So am I, if you remember correctly,” I smiled a watery smile up at him. My Patriotic Red lips grazed the side of his ear. I whispered a breathy thank you. He smiled back and said, “knock’em dead, kid.”
The local greasy spoon was probably the last place Detective Rosenberg would have thought I’d suggest. Daddy and I came here all of the time over the last few years. The people were warm and friendly in a city that could, at times, be anything but. My hands moved to my thighs and smoothed my custom tailored dress down over my legs, pressing out the folds that had come from sitting in the car. Daddy had it made especially for me, with hand painted roses along the skirt. Some might think it was ostentatious to wear something so flashy following his death. I didn’t care what they thought. I knew he would smile if he was here with me. I drew a sense of comfort from wearing the dress that my father had made especially for me, his little Tara-Rose. I had worn the standard black frock earlier to the funeral and it felt stifling. This was me.
Putting on a neutral face, I walked with purpose across the street and to the diner. Pigeons scattered from the sidewalk in front of the restaurant as my heels clicked on the pavement near them. The bell chimed over my head as the glass door opened and I immediately started searching, giving the illusion that I was searching the familiar setting for an unfamiliar face. I had seen her from a distance but I didn’t get the opportunity to really get a good look at her face. I saw her stand up from her spot in the corner booth, my stoic expression dropping for a split second as I took in her animated green eyes and her vibrant red hair tussled in every which direction. Regaining my composure, I hung my stole on the rack near the front door before making my way to the table. Her eyes travel up and down my body and I have to try hard to hold my smirk at bay. That’s not to say that my eyes don’t take in her stature: slim, lean, and looking like she could take in a few good home-cooked meals. Her hair was in desperate need of a good cut and her face a good moisturizing cream for the bags under her eyes. Her eyes gleamed as they made one more pass along my body and she gave me her best Valentino smile. I know I’m in mourning, but I can’t ignore the tingle I’m feeling. It’s been too long …
After we introduced ourselves and she pulled the old “kiss the hand instead of shake it” trick, I moved to sit down on my side of the booth. Before I was able to sit, Anya came over and pulled me into a tight hug, standing on her toes and whispering her condolences up into my ear. Miss. Rosenberg looked on, a mixture of shock and confusion evident on her face. She asked if I would like my usual order and after nodding my confirmation, she patted my hand and walked to the back of the counter to talk to the chef.
I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding while I slid into the booth across from Miss. Rosenberg. Showtime, Tara.
“Miss. Rosenberg, I do appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with me. I hope that this isn’t too much of an inconvenience for you.”
“It’s Red, doll-face. None of that ‘Miss. Rosenberg’ bullshit. Why don’t you give me the skinny as to why we are meeting?“ Her voice was low and raspy, and she looked at me skeptically as she took a long, slow drag from her cigarette. I started to speak but paused as I saw Anya coming back to the table with my fruit salad, egg white omelet and tea. Balanced on her other arm she has what I can only assume was Red’s food, if it could be called that. For such a small woman, Anya had an amazing amount of strength. After depositing the plates in front of us, she grabbed the coffee pot off the burner to top off Red’s mug. Red dug into her food immediately, grunting out a quick thanks to Anya. I looked up and smiled my thanks at her and she gave me a look. The look that basically said she was ready to take the Detective on, if she so much as laid a finger on me. The thought was absurd, of course, but comforting.
I turned back to Red, ready to tell her the purpose of our meeting when I saw her tipping a flask towards her coffee. A boozer? I hoped that it wouldn’t affect her ability to get the job done, if she acquiesced and took the job. She opened her mouth while chewing her food and said, “From what I’ve heard, your father’s death was pretty standard fare.”
My blood boiled. I leaned forward; quite intent on showing her exactly how serious I was about this. “My father’s death was not, as you say, standard fare. I do not, for a moment, believe that he had a heart attack as the police and coroner suggest. Daddy was healthy! Sure, he had his vices, but don’t we all?” My eyes flickered down to the redhead’s breakfast selection. Greasy meat and spiked coffee. I took a sip of my herbal tea and ate a bit of my omelet before I continued. “He was not a sick man. He took great pride in being active and taking care of his body. It went along with the whole image as being the Cosmetics King of New York City, but he truly believed in the way of life. Every morning he and Alexander ran together.” Her perfectly sculptured brows rose infinitesimally at the mention of Alexander’s name. I cut up some more of my food while I briefly decided how much to reveal.
“Our driver and friend,” I explained, my face flushed a bit. Rushing ahead, I continued, “and Daddy often golfed on the weekends with his friends at the Country Club.”
She mumbled something under her breath that sounded a lot like, “of course, the county club.” I could not be certain, as her mouth was full of half masticated beef once again. I took a dainty bite of my fruit and swallowed before opening my mouth to talk again. Maybe she’d learn by example?
“Tell me about your father’s friends, his habits. Did he enjoy socializing? Who were his closest friends?” She took a big gulp of her spiked coffee and winced a bit.
“He does. He … did. He was friendly with most of the members of the club, the people we’d see at parties. He had a lot of business acquaintances and social acquaintances. My brother, Donald, always poked fun at how many people he knew. It seemed like every time we’d go out somewhere, he knew every single person we passed.” I ate some more of my food. I hadn’t realize how hungry I was or how I had ignored eating the entire day. There had been too much going on. “As for close friends, he only had a few that he’d considered ‘tried and true’. Richard Wilkins. Theodore Smithe. Vincent Astor.” The names were all New York royalty, heavy-hitters in the city. If Red was surprised, she didn’t show it.
As we sat there, Ella’s version of “Satin Doll’ floated through the air from the chef’s radio in the back of the kitchen. The song seemingly too cheerful for the conversation we were having. I leaned forward again, pushing my plate out of the way so that I could get as close to her as I could without joining the redhead on her side of the booth. I reached my hand across the table and gently picked up her hand, running my fingernail lightly across the top. She watched my finger making soft circles on her hand and it almost looked like she mouthed the words “fuck me.” Certainly, even she wouldn’t say something so crass in front of a lady. I realized then and there that it was time to turn on the charm.
“Red,” I murmured the Detectives chosen name and I saw her go slack-jawed. “Something doesn’t add up with my father’s death. It does not make any sense and I truly believe that there is something more to this. That’s where you come in, should you decide that my case is worthy of your time. And I sincerely hope you decide to take me on,” I said, breathlessly, as I lowered my eyes and pursed my lips, “because I am more than willing to take you on. Whatever the price, I can tell that you are worth it.” She had actually given me no indication whatsoever of either the price or her worth during our meeting. But, I figured that a little ego stroking never hurt anyone. I wanted her – no I needed her – to take this case; Daddy deserved the best, and Alexander said the Rosenberg’s were the best. “Would you consider coming to my house? Looking around? Maybe there are some clues floating right in front of my face that I’m not noticing?” I could tell from her expression that I nearly had her. I quickly got up and moved my body around from my side of the booth to hers, sidling up right beside her. I circled my nails on her forearm. “Please, Red?”
She grabbed my hand with hers, effectively stopping me in my tracks. She leaned into my ear and to an outsider, I’m sure we appeared quite cozy. The growl in my ear told me otherwise. “I’m not easily played, dame. And you might want to take note of that. I will help you out and take on the case. But knock it off with the act. I ain’t buying what you’re selling, you see?”
To say I was slightly disappointed by her rebuff was an understatement. I nodded my head and pulled out my purse, leaving bills on the table covering our tab and a hefty tip for my sweet friend, Anya.
“Whaddya say we blow this Popsicle stand and head to your estate?” she asked, as we both rose from the booth. She grabbed her hat and tipped it forward, covering the mess of auburn hair. I almost missed seeing the vibrant shock of red and had the overwhelming urge to run my fingers through it. “Walk this way.”
From the way she had watched me walk into the room, I had to believe she’d be watching me walk out just as closely. At least now she had a reason.
_________________ Alyson, oh, Alyson why don´t you join my band? So you could play the flute like this one time in band camp. I Am Forever / A Special Christmas of Sorts / Maybe It's Just Me / Honeysuckle Rose / Blackouts and Breakthroughs / When Love Arrives
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