"You're right; it won't. Just so you know, I intend to pay for my food and drink."
I shrugged, trying to hide my irritation. "I was about to suggest we use some of the expense money Mr. Gafni gave me, but suit yourself." I signaled for the waiter, ordered another pastry and coffee. Naomi Hecht surprised me when she said she'd have the same.
I raised a questioning eyebrow. She pretended not to notice. Instead she said, "I understand he's rich. Moria's father, I mean."
"Stinking rich," I muttered, without much forethought, and caught a smile dancing on Naomi Hecht's lips, the first time I saw humor, however tenuous, on her face. It did something to her features, transforming them into something softer, more feminine and inviting, almost beautiful, like clay being shaped by a sculptor's strong fingers. It didn't last long, that smile, but when it vanished, a small part of its effect clung to her face like a promise or an aspiration.
"You don't like him much, either, do you?" she asked.
"Not much."
"Does he know that?"
"He'd have to be blind and deaf to think anything else. I doubt he cares."
"Do you?"
"Care? No, why should I?"
"You work for him."
"I don't need to like him. He's a client. Sometimes it's better not to like clients."
"Why?"
"It makes it easier to tell them things they won't like hearing."
"Do you expect to tell Mr. Gafni such things?"
I thought of Moria's mysterious lover, the condoms in the bedside cabinet, the gun hidden behind it.
"I don't know," I said. "What do you think?"
She didn't answer. The waiter arrived with our second order. He was smiling openly at me now, a twinkle in his eye. His smirk from before was ancient history. Things were going well for me, he thought. Romance over pastries and coffee. Appearances could certainly be deceiving.
Naomi Hecht drew on her coffee. I took a bite of my pastry.
"He would send her presents, did you know that?" she said, the cup clasped in both hands, gray filaments of steam rising like a gauzy curtain before her face.
"He mentioned it. What sort of presents?"
"Expensive ones. A fur coat, a radio, a refrigerator, if you can believe it. And other things, too. He would have them delivered to her apartment."
"There was no refrigerator in Moria's apartment. No radio or fur coat, either."
"She didn't keep them. Not any of them."
"What did she do with them?"
"She gave them away."
"To whom?"
"To people who needed them, that's what she said. Of course, Moria could have used them too, but she didn't want them."
"Why not give them to you? You were her friend."
"She never offered. I think she wanted to remove her father's presents from her life, and I was part of her life. The only reason I know of them at all is that I was at her apartment when the refrigerator arrived. Only then did she tell me about the presents at all."
"I see," I said, remembering my impression of Moria's apartment, that she could have lived in finer accommodations with the help of her father, but that she chose not to. I remembered Gafni telling me of all the money he'd spent trying to win his daughter's affection, and how it did no good. For once, his money had proved useless.
Again we fell silent for a spell. I studied Naomi Hecht over the rim of my coffee cup, and she studied me over the rim of hers. She had an oval face with fine cheekbones, a high forehead, and straight eyebrows. Her face was a little thinner than it should have been, like the rest of her body. Her skin was very smooth, unblemished apart from those purple bags under her eyes. There was something younger than her years in her features, and something older too. But both qualities were elusive, hard to pinpoint. I wondered what she saw in my face. I doubted there was anything younger than my years in my features. There were certainly things that were older.
There were many questions I could have asked her at that moment, but I held off. I sensed that she was considering telling me something, and I knew that any word I uttered might cause her to clam up. I waited, eating another piece of my pastry.
Finally, with an almost imperceptible nod of decision, Naomi Hecht said, "I don't know why Moria hated her father so. I wish I did."
"She never told you?"
"Never. I asked several times, but she would always shake her head and change the subject. But I do know it had something to do with her mother."
"Her mother?"
"You know about her mother, right?"
"I know that she died a few years back."
"When Moria was sixteen. But do you know how she died?"
