Well, my incredible hulk, she said. Where will you take me today?
Wherever you want to go, I said. Within reason.
Jill linked her arm through mine. Lead on, Macbeth, she said.
We went out to where Susan was waiting in the Cherokee. The windows were tinted and Jill didnt know that Susan was there until I opened the back door for Jill and she stopped and shook her head. Ill ride up front, she said.
Fronts taken, I said.
The side window went down and Susan smiled out at Jill.
You remember Susan Silverman, I said.
I didnt know shed be here, Jill said to me.
We try to spend most weekends together, I said. When we can.
Spensers Boston tour has become legendary, Susan said. I think youll enjoy it.
Youve been hired to protect me, Jill said to me.
I know. Susans going to work free, I said.
Hop in, Jill. Susan was jollier than two yule logs.
I held the back door open, and after a short pause Jill got in. I went around, got behind the wheel, and off we went. Jill sat stiffly upright in the back seat. Susan shifted around so that she could see both Jill and me when she spoke.
Have you gotten to see much of Boston since youve been here, Jill? Susan asked.
No.
What a shame. It really is a lovely city.
You try to get out when youre working sixteen hours a day every day, and some lunatic is threatening your life, Jill said.
That must be very trying, Susan said. Her voice was sympathetic, but to the accomplished listener, and Id been listening closely to Susan since 1974, there was humor and maybe the edge of something else in there.
You got that right, sister.
We went along the river and pulled off on Charles Street. I found a convenient No-Parking-Here-To-Corner opening and pulled in near the recycled Universalist Meeting House.
Charles Street, I said.
We did a scene down here, somewhere, in an old firehouse, Jill said.
It was still warm. The brick sidewalks on Charles Street were wet with the puddled snow melt, and every eave dripped. There were Christmas trees being sold on the corner of Chestnut Street, and a Salvation Army Santa rang his bell in front of Toscano Restaurant.
Tis the season to be jolly, I said.
So, Jill said, its Susan, isnt it?
Susan nodded.
Arent you on the show in some way or other?
Yes, Susan said
with a big sunny smile. Im the technical consultant.
We were walking toward the Common. The crowds on Charles Street were in the spirit of the season. People were angry and sullen and tired as they shoved past each other carrying shopping bags. Sweaty in their winter clothing, they packed into the small trendy shops and bumped each other with their packages.
Whats that mean? Jill said.
Susan was wearing a black leather jacket and black jeans. The jeans were tucked into some low-heeled soft leather cobalt boots that wrinkled fashionably around her ankles. Next to her Jill Joyce looked maybe just a trifle silly.
Im a psychotherapist, Susan said, and I offer suggestions to make the show more authentic.
Youre a shrink?
Un huh.
Youre a doctor?
I have a Ph.D. in psychology.
We reached the corner of Beacon Street.
Up to the left, I said, is the State House. Thats the Common there, and on the other side of Charles is the Public Garden.
The trees on the Common were strung with Christmas lights. It was bright with them at night, though it was hard to see now. The Common was snow covered, and full of people crisscrossing its walks in bright clothing. At a distance they looked cheery. The white snow and the dark trees made a bright contrast to the predominant red brick tones of Beacon Hill that rose along our side of the Common and slanted down Park Street behind it. The steeple of the Park Street Church gestured over the rise of the Common, against the blue winter sky. Two hundred years ago theyd hidden gunpowder in its cellar
I want a drink, Jill said.
I can see why, I said. Its nearly three hours since breakfast.
I dont give a fuck what time it is, Jill said. When I feel like a drink I feel like a drink.
Want some lunch with that? I said.
Maybe I do, maybe I dont, Jill said.
We walked across the Public Garden to the new Four Seasons Hotel and sat at a table near the bar. Jill had a glass of white wine. Susan and I had club soda. Jill drank a gulp of white wine, took out a cigarette and leaned toward me. I didnt have a match and there werent any on the table. I shrugged and spread my hands.
Jill said, Well get some from the waitress.
The waitress spotted our dilemma and brought over a book of matches before I could ask her. I took them and lit Jills cigarette. Jill took a long drag, exhaled, swallowed some more wine. The bar was nearly empty at twenty to noon. It was sprawling and low with many sofas and little tables. The lighting was dim. There were times when a quiet bar early in the day is nearly perfect. Jill finished her wine.
Get me another, she said.
No. I perform heroic feats if you are threatened. But I dont fetch things.
You get me one, she said and pointed her chin at Susan.