Jake & Mimi by Frank Baldwin Read Free Book Online Page B

before the corner, the smoked-glass window of Vine. Vine is an elegant wine-tasting room, and Miss Lessing rarely passes
     it without stopping to read the day’s selections. If one intrigues her, as it did today, she takes a pen from her purse and
     writes it down.
    Each afternoon I see her first as she turns onto the block, see her from my window spot in La Boheme, the faux Parisian coffeehouse
     across the street. Today she wore a demure blue suit, offset by white stockings. I watched until she turned the far corner,
     and then I returned my cup to the counter and stepped out of aromatic La Boheme and into the teeming street. I walked east,
     then south, through what was once called Germantown. Forty years ago my father would bring me here on Sunday mornings, to
     browse in the sausage shops. They are bars now, or boutiques.
    I walked down through the Seventies, and through the Sixties. At Fifty-seventh Street the clamor of York gave way to the quiet
     of Sutton Place, and from there it was but three blocks to the clearing, a small patch of grass and flowers between two gray
     buildings. The clearing commands an unobstructed view of the river and its walkway but is set back far enough that one can
     watch from the railing in peace.
    As I do now.
    Three nights a week Miss Lessing works out at her gym, but three others she runs along the river. Any minute now she will
     step into view. I hold to the railing and watch the river walkway. A young woman runs by in a garish sports bra, and now another
     in shorts cut to her hip.
    There she is.
    Dressed discreetly, as always, her long T-shirt falling almost to her knees. Tonight her brown hair is pulled into a tight
     ponytail. Her chin is up, her runner’s legs striding smoothly. Such carriage. And then she is gone. Seven seconds it takes
     her to pass from sight.
    I watch the spring wind stir the dark surface of the river. When she appears again on her return pass, she will be beautiful
     in her exhaustion. Her head down, soft beads of perspiration rimming her smooth face. I look at my watch. 6:40. It will take
     her about twenty minutes.
    I watch the waves and settle in to wait.

CHAPTER FOUR
    T he first rule of tax season is never to answer the phone. I do, though, certain that it’s Pardo, calling to accept the offer
     of primo Knicks tickets I left with his assistant just minutes ago.
    “Jake Teller,” I say.
    “Mr. Teller.” I recognize the voice of senior partner Abe Stein. “What’s the first rule of tax season?”
    “Screen your calls.”
    “Good. Abe Stein here. Could I see you in my office, please?”
    “Sure.”
    I look at the foot-high pile of tax returns in my in-box, then at the slew of pink message slips. Each will be a client wanting
     last-minute advice. Even the stodgy ones get pretty creative as tax day nears, and they call us for fresh explanations of
     the distinction between dodge and deductible. I walk down the long hall, through reception, then down the carpeted hall of
     the south wing, to Mr. Stein’s corner office. A visit here can only mean more work, and as I knock on the heavy mahogany door,
     I already feel nostalgic for the fourteen-hour days of the past two weeks. Just let it be a straight return — nothing from
     out of left field.
    “Come in.”
    Mr. Stein sits behind an impressive rosewood desk. He has the quiet air of a professor, but the word in the halls is that
     when the senior partners get together, he speaks last and loudest. In front of him, in one of the two leather client chairs
     that face his desk, sits a young woman.
    “Hello, Jake,” says Mr. Stein. “Do you know Mimi Lessing?”
    “Just barely,” I say.
    We met for ten seconds on my first morning. In the crush of work ever since, I’d forgotten her, though I don’t see how I could
     have. She is beautiful. Lithe, a runner maybe, with clear brown eyes and olive skin. Beneath her light suit she wears a camisole,
     which pulls away from the top of her smooth