Telegraph Hill by John F. Nardizzi Page A

Mark
Hopkins. That was the first time I met Tania. I was nervous. She knew I was new
to the business. She helped me, took care of me.”
    Ray resisted the urge to develop this scenario
further.
    “How often did you work together?”
    “Every week after that first meeting. The guy
talked about us with his friends, and we got a lot of calls. They wanted us
together.”
    “And you were comfortable with her by this time?”
said Ray.
    “Very much. She looked after me.”
    “When did you last hear from her?”
    “A while," said Moon. Her eyes were lanterns
shining through half-closed shields.
    “Any clients take a special interest in her?”
    “They all did,” said Moon. “Unlike most girls, she
put her heart in it. She does that with everything.”
    “Anyone that you remember having some hesitation
about?”
    “No.”
    “She ever threatened by anyone? Anyone she worried
about?”
    Moon thought for a moment. “One guy. Not a
client.”
    She went on to explain that, for a time, Tania
resisted working long hours, and was content to be a highly paid escort who saw
clients only when she desired. Her mood abruptly changed one winter afternoon.
    “She was having trouble with a boyfriend. Very
jealous guy.” Moon picked up a towel and began scrubbing the massage table.
    “Remember his name?”
    “Steven.”
    “Last name?”
    “He was Irish,” said Moon, scrunching her brow.
“Moore? Moran? I don’t remember.”
    Ray took it in, showing nothing.
    “You said he was jealous. How so?”
    “He did not like her in the life. The strange men,
the money. She was mixing with some rich people. I think he thought that she
was out of his league. But that stuff never got to her. Deep down, she’s a
nerd; she carried around this book of poetry and read it between appointments.
She was always reading.”
    “Did he know about you two?”
    “Yes. He didn’t like me,” said Moon. She shifted
in the chair. “He resented our friendship.”
    “Did Steven ever get violent with her?”
    “There was some weird stuff one night. I remember
that he came over one night after Tania and me got off work and had dinner
together.”
    In his mind, Ray pictured the two of them,
commuting home and washing the day’s juices and dust off of each other. The
world was not always deep, but it was wide.
    After dinner at a Thai restaurant, Moon and Tania
had returned home to find Steven waiting by the front door. He was highly
flammable, vapors of rock-gut wine wafting from his pores. He shouted angrily
at Tania, who drew him into the confines of her bedroom. His loud shouting had
continued for several minutes. He emerged fifteen minutes later, his bile
neutralized by Tania’s twilight softness. He left wordlessly.
    “Steven faded out of the picture. I never saw him
again after that night,” said Moon
    “What else did she say about breaking up with him?
Was she involved with anyone else?” asked Ray.
    “No.”
    “What about her interests?” Ray asked. “Dancing,
clubs, yoga?”
    “She was into yoga, sure. Everyone in the Bay Area
does yoga.” She shrugged.
    “What clubs did she go to?”
    “Nightclubs? She doesn’t go out much. She is not a
drinker.”
    Present tense again. He continued to admire Moon’s
cool beauty, so different than the Mediterranean firebrands he usually dated.
    “When did you last speak with her?”
    “Like I said, it’s been over a year.”
    He looked at her face. Her brow angled low and
heavy, a squall was building. The eyes just a bit tense. He was pleased—she was
sensitive about this topic of her contacts. He’d gouge her a bit more.
    “Moon, I appreciate you talking with me. I hope
she is OK. Do you think you might in the fullness of time tell me where she
is?”
    “I don’t know where she is.” She fired a sharp
smile at him.
    “If you find she’s in trouble, would you call me?
Or tell her I can help.”
    Moon shook her head yes, slightly.
    “Well, thanks for talking,” he said. Moon