A Fashionable Affair Read Free

trigonometry into Patsy’s head. Sally, also a top math student, had not had the patience. And when Michael had been state wrestling champion in his junior year, Patsy had been in the audience cheering him on.
    Yet they had always been just friends. Patsy had dated constantly all through high school, but never with Michael.
    Seven years, Patsy thought. Had it really been seven years since she had seen him last?
    She finally edged her car into the toll booth on the Triborough, handed the man her money, and accelerated slowly. If Sally hadn’t married a med ical student and moved to Michigan, Patsy thought, she and Michael would have met more often. Now that Sally was back home, no doubt they would be seeing a bit more of each other. Seven years, thought Patsy. My goodness. Where had the time gone to?
    * * * *
    That evening after dinner Patsy went to the hos pital to see her business manager. He had been moved from the intensive-care unit into a regular private room and she sat with him for a few minutes chatting about insignificant things before asking him for the key to his office.
    He frowned. “What do you need that for?”
    “Oh,” she deliberately kept her tone light and unconcerned. “There are a few papers I need. There’s nothing to worry about, Fred.”
    “The hospital took all my keys when I was admit ted,” he said slowly. “I don’t know where they’ve put them.”
    Patsy got to her feet. “I’ll find out.”
    She was gone for ten minutes, and when she came back, she was with a woman who was holding his keys.
    “Here they are, Fred,” Patsy said serenely. “Just show me the office key, and we’ll send the rest back.”
    He separated out a key and very slowly gave the chain to Patsy. She detached the key he had indica ted and gave the rest to the woman, who smiled coolly and departed. Patsy sat next to his bed.
    “I have my first shooting on the new camera con tract on Monday,” she said. “It should be fun.”
    “Yeah.” Fred was clearly not paying attention. “Patsy, what’s up? Why do you want that key?”
    He looked really disturbed and Patsy decided that he would probably worry more if he didn’t know what was going on.
    “It’s nothing major. Fred, I promise you. I had an IRS man come by the other day. He was asking questions about my investment in the Fairmont Shopping Center.”
    Fred seemed to relax. “Oh, Fairmont. So, what’s wrong with it?”
    “He said it was oversold, whatever that means, and they are not allowing my deduction.”
    “Oversold,” Fred repeated. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
    “Yes. He wanted to see my old tax returns as well. That’s why I need the key.”
    “You mean this IRS guy wants to talk to you again?”
    “Yes. But it’s purely routine, Fred. He said so.”
    Fred tried to sit up straight in bed. “Patsy, listen. I’ll give you the name of a guy to get in touch with. He’ll help you go through the files and get the material.”
    Patsy gently pressed him down onto his back. “Don’t worry about a thing, Fred. I’ve already got someone—an old friend from Long Island who happens to be a CPA. He’s going to get the tax material together.”
    Fred let her push him against the pillow. “Oh. A fellow from Long Island. What’s his name?”
    “Michael Melville.”
    Fred frowned. “Michael Melville. I know that name.”
    “He used to work for the Justice Department here in New York,” Patsy said helpfully. “He’s in private practice in Long Island now.”
    Patsy had thought Fred looked gray when she came in but now his skin turned the shade of parchment. “Jesus,” he said. “That Melville.”
    “Are you all right, Fred?” Patsy asked anxiously.
    He put his hand to his chest. “I’m fine,” he said. “Patsy, listen to me ...” But Patsy had gone for the nurse.
    Later that night Fred Zimmerman suffered another massive heart attack and died.
    * * * *
    It was a very subdued Patsy who called Michael the following