Part 24 (1/2)

I started with the clothes. Sophie's hippie phase especially had some great moments, and as I had discovered, her clothes actually fit me. So I picked out the best of the Indian-print and tie-dyed tops and skirts, and even a dress with little mirrors all over it. I chose a couple of pairs of cowboy boots and four or five pairs of shoes. I took out two boxes of yarn and knitting needles with the thought that I had always wanted to learn how to knit. And then I grabbed her old Canon, even though it was a film SLR and totally useless anymore.

So I spent the morning and early afternoon picking out stuff to use or save and hanging it up or hiding it in my little room. The way Lucy was talking, I thought, there's no telling how much longer I'll be here, and just going through Sophie's things made me want to turn that sorry old place into a home again. I found a table and a lamp that were old and beat-up enough to look like I might have bought them at a stoop sale. I even found a small Turkish area rug with funny little animals all over it; next to my equally small bed, it made the room quite cozy. I had already lifted a dozen or so mystery novels from the boxes underneath Mom's bed and lined them against the wall where I slept, so the room was beginning to look as if an actual person lived there.

I picked up Sophie's alligator clutch from the floor where I had dropped it, wondering where I could hide something that valuable. And then I thought, oh it doesn't look valuable, it looks like an old purse, n.o.body's going to steal it.

So it wasn't a big leap, frankly, to the next step. I was on the verge of money problems. I had come to that apartment with nothing, really nothing, and then I was lucky enough to find seven hundred dollars, and then I squeezed two hundred out of Len and eighty out of the Whites. I had been living on that for a little over two months! I was pretty much broke now, and that purse was worth at least five thousand dollars. And the dress, I suspected, was worth quite a bit as well. I found a shopping bag and put the clutch in the bottom and the Balenciaga on top of it. And then I dropped the pearls in there too.

In the elevator I took a couple of breaths and turned my brain over to reptile mode, which is what I do when I know I'm doing something wrong-like stealing-but I also know that I'm going to do it anyway. Not that I make a habit of stealing; if I did, I might not be so broke all the time. Or I might be spending more time in jail than the occasional overnight visit. In any case, I don't steal except in the direst circ.u.mstances. And in this case, I wasn't all that bothered about it. What good would it do Sophie or my mother or me if I just left the stuff back there and let it be tossed or grabbed up by lawyers or Sotheby's or Mrs. Westmoreland or someone else from the building? Why leave it for any of them? That is what my determined reptile brain was telling me when I stepped off the elevator: I needed the money, no one else needed the money. No one else was going to help me out; only Sophie would.

I didn't even make it through the lobby.

The response to our c.o.c.ky little performance at Sotheby's had apparently been swift and decisive. Right there in the Edgewood lobby I found myself in the middle of another press conference, this one decidedly less civil, particularly with regard to me and my family and what we thought we were doing there. The place was packed; there were at least twice as many reporters and photographers as we had seen the day before, shoved together in every available square inch from the elevator bank past Frank's podium all the way to the front door. Everybody's backs were to me as they tried to take photographs and shoot questions at the small but definite cadre of speakers gathered in front of the giant fireplace and trying to answer the questions being thrown at them. There were no microphones at this press conference, so people were shouting.

”Mr. Drinan-Mr. Drinan-Mr. Drinan!” somebody yelled. ”Has any court issued a ruling on the status of the will?”

”The Surrogate's Court has not issued a ruling, but as of this afternoon a cloud has been placed on the t.i.tle. The Livingston Mansion Apartment, my mother's family apartment, is not being represented for sale at this time. The announcement that Sotheby's will be representing the Livingston Mansion Apartment is a complete fabrication,” Doug shouted. ”The so-called heirs of Olivia Finn have no claim on it. The will that purports to bequeath the apartment to Olivia Finn has been determined to be fraudulent.”

The alarming and decisive confidence of this a.s.sertion pretty much scared the s.h.i.+t out of me for a second, but when I stood on my toes and caught a glimpse of old Doug over the heads of the two gigantic camera guys who were blocking my view, I could see that Doug wasn't so sure of himself. His air of frustrated defeat had turned into something like a permanent expression of deep unhappiness. His lips had almost disappeared, his hair was disappearing, and his skin was gray, which may just have been the ugly fluorescent lighting in the lobby, but I had seen Frank under those lights a thousand times by now, and he always looked fine. Doug looked paunchy and angry, and while he made it sound like he was winning, he looked like he was losing. But as Doug kept talking, I remembered that someone who is losing has nothing more to lose and is usually the worst enemy you can have.

From where I was standing I couldn't see anything but backs. There were more camera flashes. Someone else asked a question I couldn't hear, and somebody else, with a big voice, answered. ”It's possible that the senior Mr. Drinan was never intended to be the heir in the first place. We have not been able to ascertain that the will of the first Mrs. Drinan was ever probated, in which case the doc.u.ment being considered by the Surrogate's Court at the present time will carry no authority whatsoever. If that is the case, the sons of Sophia Livingston, who grew up in the apartment, are clearly the rightful heirs.”

There were more mumbled questions, and the guy with the big voice made another announcement. ”Why don't we let the board answer that question.”

He and some of the others up there conversed among themselves, and then a third voice started to speak, but there was so much overlap he couldn't really be heard. The room was getting hot from all the camera lights, and people were starting to shove a bit, because it was so crowded and no one could see what was happening.

”We can't hear!” someone in the back yelled. After some more frustrated mumbling, the loud voice in the front spoke up again.

”Yes, sorry, sorry, here this seems to help,” it announced. There was some shuffling, and then Len stepped up onto one of the lobby's wingback chairs.

I just stared. It really was Len, and his hair was combed and he was wearing a lovely dark green suit and tie, but his eyes were crazier than ever.

”The Edgewood in no way supports the supposed heirs of Olivia Finn. Our understanding is that, contrary to the a.s.sertions made by Sotheby's, there is in fact a cloud on the t.i.tle, but that doesn't matter because the co-op board will not endorse any sale at this time. These women are no better than thieves as far as we are concerned. It is disgraceful that they have succeeded in this dreadful misappropriation of property to any degree whatsoever,” he hissed. ”And it will not be allowed.”

Some more mumbling at Len's feet apparently struck a nerve, because he became completely incensed. ”Yes there is, there is someone living there who has no rights at all, and the building has very much taken note of it, and she is going to be evicted immediately!” he declared hotly. ”This is a landmark building, and the indignity-the indignity of this pretender and interloper-will no longer be tolerated. Unless these people vacate the premises within the week, the building will bring its own action against them!” There was some more mumbling, which made Len even madder. ”Legality-there has been too much talk about legality! What about what is historic! What about what is right! What about that!”

In spite of the tidy suit, Len was starting to look and sound completely psychotic. I couldn't believe it; he was like a different person. I wanted to shout at him, I'm taking care of your moss, you a.s.shole! But that would not have helped my situation. His angry exhortations were having their effect on the mood of the room. Some of the photographers in the back were shoving each other to get a decent shot; many were just holding their cameras above their heads and firing off their motor drives, hoping they'd end up with something worth printing. But some of the reporters at the back were feeling left out, so they started shouting questions really loudly, partly out of frustration and partly so they could be heard. ”Has the building started eviction proceedings?” a skinny girl in a red jacket shouted. I wanted to hit her, but I was beginning to worry that someone would notice that the evil pretender and interloper was standing right there spying on the proceedings, and they'd mob me.

Which actually is what happened next, just not to me. Someone up front tried to answer the skinny reporter's question with what may have been the last shred of reason in the room. ”No one is being evicted!” he shouted, but then there was a kind of swelling up and movement near the front door; one of the tenants was coming home, and those of us back by the elevators were getting shoved. Seriously, it's not like there were a hundred people there-I don't know how many were there, maybe thirty-but the foyer of the Edge is not a limitless s.p.a.ce. That one extra person seems to have been the tipping point. Or maybe it was who she was, because suddenly all the reporters started to shout and turn their attention toward the doorway, where the beautiful Julianna Gideon was trying to make her way in.

I had seen her only a couple times, but this crowd was made up of the kind of society writers who know where you live and how much money you have and how old your family is and what parties you go to and what charity events you attend. In any event, they all knew who she was, and, more important, they cared. ”Miss Gideon! Miss Gideon!” they shouted, which in the moment honestly sounded sort of obscenely polite, given that they were shoving around her like a crazed soccer mob and sticking their cameras in her face ruthlessly. ”Can we get a comment about the controversy? Have you met any of the women who now claim part owners.h.i.+p of the building? Will you support the co-op board if they attempt eviction proceedings?”

I couldn't even see Julianna at first, but then I spotted that beautiful head of hair, her face tucked down against her shoulder, as she gently tried to make her way through the swarm. She wore a soft rose-colored coat, which had been pulled open by her struggle with the crowd, and she carried a couple of expensive shopping bags that kept getting caught behind her, so she kept turning back to murmur, ”Excuse me, so sorry, excuse me.” She would try to move forward, then get dragged back, people were shouting, and then she threw back her head, releasing her face from all those dark curls with an almost angelic despair. Her face went all white and her knees buckled and she started to go down.

Who knows what might have happened-she had fainted, no question, and people were being careless indeed. But Frank appeared out of the crowd and caught her. She fell into his arms, and he picked her up and shouldered his way through the mob, carrying her the last few steps to where I was standing in front of the elevators. Her head was tipped back, and her curls fell gracefully around the epaulets on his doorman's uniform. I had enough presence of mind to swing the elevator door open for them and swing myself in behind. The reporters were closing in, and Julianna wasn't the only one who needed to make an escape. ”What floor is she on, Frank?” I said fast, reaching for the b.u.t.tons.

”Eleven,” he told me.

Just then a hand reached in and stopped the elevator door from closing. ”No no no no,” I begged, half under my breath. I actually smacked the hand, hard, and then tried to pry the fingers off the sliding panel as I shoved my body in front of Julianna and Frank so that no one could push their way in.

”Would you relax! Tina, Jesus, opletely forgotten that I was back in the corner by the door; both of them were clearly so content just looking at each other. I almost shouted, ”Kiss her! Kiss her!” but there was no time.

”What is going on here?” someone announced, behind us. Before I could even turn to say h.e.l.lo, Mrs. Gideon with the steely gray hair swept by me to join her daughter on that pristine couch. When Julianna lay on it, it looked like a bed, but as soon as her ferocious mother sat next to her it looked like a throne. It had strange paw-like feet that you noticed only when Mom was sitting there.

”Oh, mother, I'm fine,” Julianna began. Mother cut her off.

”You're clearly not fine, someone just carried you into your own apartment. What happened?” Mrs. Gideon turned on Frank and me as if we were the problem here and not the solution. She was a fairly frightening person, truth be told. She kept asking questions, but they didn't sound a bit like questions; every word out of her mouth sounded like a complete accusation. She was honestly no fun at all.

”There was a crowd down in the lobby, things were a little upsetting,” Frank explained.

”Yes, things are upsetting, people in the building are upset, my understanding is that it's being handled, Frank, I don't know what it has to do with you,” Mrs. Gideon snapped, standing. ”And I don't appreciate your bringing her into my home.” She barely flicked her eyes in my direction; I was beneath her, and besides, she was having too much fun giving Frank a hard time. ”Surely you know that I would consider that inappropriate.”

Frank was completely mortified. ”I ... I ... I ...,” he began, but she was having none of it.

”You've done enough, now go,” she ordered.

”Mother. Please.” Julianna sat up, her cheeks turning the palest rose. I'm telling you, that girl knew how to blush. Her pink cheeks were just the slightest shade lighter than her rose-colored wrap. Sitting up on that white couch, she looked like a flower. ”Frank took care of me, I don't know why you would speak so harshly to him,” she said, laughing a little in a way that took all the sting out of her mother's accusations. ”I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there, Frank. I was really frightened and it was so silly to faint.”

”You fainted? I'm calling the doctor.”

”I'm fine now, thanks to Frank. I am very grateful, Frank, really I am.” She stood up and held her hand out to him with a simple elegance. He took it in both of his own, too overwhelmed to speak. Honestly, if her hideous mother had not been there, I think he would have fallen to his knees in a wors.h.i.+pful daze. But Hideous Mother was there. And she was done with us.

”Well, I don't know what happened,” she said. ”But if you say Frank was helpful, I'm sure he was. Here, Frank, wait there for a minute so I can get you something.”

”Oh-no, please,” said Frank. But Hideous Mother had already stalked to the entryway, where I was standing and watching, and picked up her purse from a useless-looking sticklike table perched just inside the door. She smiled at me tightly as she turned, making sure I knew that even if I had fooled her pretty daughter, I sure wasn't going to fool her. But she really didn't have anything to say anymore; she was just ready to get rid of both of us.

”Here,” she said, holding out a five-dollar bill in Frank's direction.

Frank's face went white, then a deep, truly indescribable color seemed to pa.s.s over it like a wave. To give him his due, his expression did not change. But for a moment he seemed unable to speak or move.

”Mother,” whispered Julianna, completely mortified.

”What?” said Hideous Mother. ”He's the doorman and he was very helpful to you.” She twitched the five between her fingers in an insanely insulting breath of a gesture. ”You just said so yourself, sweetheart. I think it's completely appropriate to offer him a tip.” She took another step toward Frank and gave the bill yet another little flick. The whole performance was so shocking I couldn't look away.