And When She Was Good by Laura Lippman Page A

everyone wants her time and attention. Heloise can’t help admiring the young woman’s bountiful self-regard. It seems like a great way to be, even if the rest of the world considers you self-centered. But then, being as self-centered as she is, Frida has no clue that anyone experiences her as something less than wonderful.
    â€œWhat did you think of the sermon today?”
    â€œI loved it,” Heloise says. Then some imp seizes her, and she adds, “I thought it was amazing how you managed to bring it around to yourself. It’s so—brave. Most clergymen—clergywomen? Clergypeople? At any rate, they don’t risk that level of exposure. ”
    Frida beams at the compliment even as Coranne all but chokes on a cookie. “I do think it’s important to break down that wall between the person standing at the pulpit and those in the congregation. We’re not anointed, for goodness’ sake.”
    â€œNot even with oil on occasion?”
    Coranne coughs a piece of cookie into her napkin. But the Reverend Frida whoops with laughter, too. She punches Heloise in the arm, says, “You are so funny.”
    â€œBut seriously, Reverend Frida?”
    â€œJust Frida is fine.”
    â€œI know this is going to sound odd, but I would love it if you would one day do a sermon on the role of prostitutes in the Bible. I mean—they’re all over the place. For example, I don’t think most people know that the two women who come before Solomon in the dispute over the baby are prostitutes.”
    â€œReally?” Coranne says.
    â€œSee?” Heloise says.
    The Reverend Frida furrows her brow, bringing her straight dark eyebrows together in a way that calls to mind her namesake, Frida Kahlo. “Well, prostitution is such a predictable feminist topic that I feel I’d have to do something surprising with it. There was the time I went to Barcelona—”
    â€œI’m sure you’ll find an unusual way to talk about it,” Heloise says, her face all bland innocence. Coranne is dying now, coughing and spluttering. Heloise realizes she enjoys making her laugh.
    But then the Reverend Frida moves away, and Coranne asks, “Are you free this afternoon? Lindsey wants to go ice-skating at the rink. If Scott wanted to go, you and I could repair to the little café across the street. I’ve never understood that use of ‘repair,’ actually—it’s so strange. Anyway, if you don’t have anything to do—”
    â€œI’m terribly sorry,” says Heloise, who’s not the least bit sorry, “but I have to spend the day catching up on paperwork.”
    H eloise was telling Coranne the truth, not that she would have had any problem lying to her. She has set aside this rainy Sunday afternoon for clerical work, annoying but essential. Even though she eschews paperwork as much as possible, there’s still no shortage of it.
    It is not easy to become a new client of WFEN, even in this economy. Heloise prefers referrals from trusted sources—longtime customers who have a stake in the business, as it were. Men like Paul believe they will suffer mightily if she is ever arrested—and that’s a good thing. A little fear goes a long way, as her various mentors have taught her.
    But her customers will never be as careful as she is. No one is as careful as she is. No one ever values another person’s livelihood as much as that person does. Or another person’s money or even another person’s time, especially another person’s time. No one values her. That was a painful lesson to learn at her father’s knee—at the end of her father’s arm, at the flat of his palm—but once she absorbed it, she flourished. It doesn’t matter what others think she is worth. She sets the price.
    Once a referral has been made, Heloise requests the kind of basic information that one might see on a credit-card