Part 32 (1/2)

”I could kill you for this,” Doug continued, pacing in a tight circle in that tiny room. ”This was Mom's, everything. This place. And you're just throwing it away! On those-that woman, who Dad let come in here, like it wasn't Mom's. When it was only hers. This place is hers. It was the only thing she really loved.” The words hung out there like a curse as soon as he said it. I was embarra.s.sed to have heard it.

Pete shook his head. ”You know that's not true. She loved us. I remember how much she loved us. That's what I choose to remember. I make that choice every day.”

”That's convenient. Considering what you did to her, what you and Dad-what you did.”

Pete didn't answer at first. The whisper of loss was rising around them. Doug looked completely spent. He glanced up at the ceiling for a moment, that old trick of raking your eyes frantically to keep them from betraying you. He looked at that awful painted sunset on the wall and started to shake with a terrible and relentless grief. Pete waited, still, while his brother wept openly for what seemed a long time before he shook himself back into some semblance of control.

”Sorry,” Doug finally said, abrupt and ungracious.

Pete nodded, pretending the apology was better than it was. ”There was something wrong with her brain,” he continued quietly. Doug accepted the facts as Pete recounted them. ”We talked to a lot of people. You remember that. The chemicals went bad. It wasn't her fault, but it wasn't his fault either.”

”She wasn't well.”

”No, she wasn't. We got a lot of opinions, Doug, you know we did what we had to do.” The two of them stood there looking at each other, mournfully resting in the end of an argument they had had far too many times. For a long moment they just looked at each other. Pete reached up to touch his brother's shoulder. And Doug slugged him, hard, right across the face.

31.

”THEY'RE KICKING YOU OUT, TINA,” FRANK INFORMED ME UNDER his breath when I snuck out past the doorman's station several days later. ”They're real mad at you.”

I wasn't surprised to hear it.

The pearls I left at Sotheby's. Leonard Rubenstein, the man who looked like a lion, gave me an official estimate of their worth, somewhere in the range of $350,000. The clasp, apparently, was much more valuable than the pearls themselves. He knew of a jeweler who would take the necklace quickly and essentially break it up for parts. He promised to call me by the end of the day with an offer. Then I called one of my friends from the hot tub, Lyle, who had had the foresight to slip his phone number into that little alligator handbag. He suggested he could come by the apartment and price out the rest of the stuff, so I said sure.

”Really?” he said, almost cooing on the other end of the line. ”Can I bring Roger? Or Andrew? Or Steve? They'll kill me, they really will, if they find out that I got to see the apartment and they didn't.”

”Whoever wants to come see the apartment,” I said, ”is welcome.”

It was a good little party. Andrew brought champagne and foie gras, and Roger and Steve and Edward and Dave came too, and they loved every square inch of the place; they appreciated every strange corner and disastrous choice. They even loved the mustard-colored s.h.a.g rug.

”It's so hideous,” Andrew said in an admiring tone. ”And who would have thought to use so much? It's a sea of mustard. I think it works, I really do.”

”You're insane,” said Edward, but he kissed him, so I knew he wasn't in love with Vince anymore, which I thought was definitely a good thing.

”Tina, can I talk to you for a second?” Lyle called from the hallway.

He took me back to the storage room so we could talk business. ”All right. A lot of this-everything over here-it's sentimental value, I'm sure, but that's how you need to see it,” he explained, waving at a pile of boxes full of old shoes and knitting paraphernalia and wrinkled cotton skirts. ”The Salvation Army maybe would take it off your hands if they didn't have to come pick it up. It's not worth anything. Over here, on the other hand, we have some things that probably are worth quite a bit.” He stepped back out into the laundry area and led me around the corner toward the TV room. There he pointed toward the doorway of Bill and Mom's bedroom, where he had used the arched pocket doors as a frame for a little fas.h.i.+on show.

”What a lovely presentation,” I told him.

”Thank you,” he said, smiling. ”I think it's important, with beautiful things, to display them properly, so we can decide in an aesthetic way what is the best course of action.”

”The only course of action I'm really interested in is money,” I said.

”Yes, sweetheart, I'm well aware.” He nodded. ”You can be a philistine all you want. The rest is for me. Okay. The Balenciaga c.o.c.ktail dress will bring in, conservatively, two thousand dollars.”

”Two thousand?” I said, hoping I was hearing this right.

”The alligator bag, I already know who I can take that to, and there's no question he'll pay four. The evening gowns are a little more specific and not quite as cla.s.sic or timeless as the gowns that bring in the big bucks, but they're in good shape, the sea green one is really a beautiful color, we'll stay conservative and estimate another two for both of them.”

”So what is that, eight? That's pretty good. How long will it take to sell them?”

”Wait wait wait. First, my darling, first we have to talk about this.” He walked over to the display area, reached up against the wall, and presented me with a piece of the ugliest luggage I had ever seen.

”What about it?” I said.

”Do you know what this is?” he asked.

”You can have it, n.o.body wants this stuff,” I a.s.sured him.

”You know nothing! Nothing!” he said, incensed with delight at how much I didn't know. ”Six pieces-a matched set of Hermes airline luggage from the sixties. I've never seen even one piece before today-you have a whole set! And it's pristine! It's in perfect condition! I don't know what you might get for it. I just don't even know.” He was dialing away on his cell phone, he was so excited.

”But do you know anybody who would buy it?” I asked him. ”I need the money fast. They're going to kick me out any second. I have to get this stuff out of here.”

”We'll buy it, Tina, don't worry,” said Andrew, handing me a gla.s.s of champagne.

”You'll buy it,” I said. ”No no, come on you don't have to, to to-”

”To take care of you?” he asked. ”But we want to take care of you. And if Lyle says it's worth something, trust me, it is. I'm sure it's a terrific investment.”

”Do not take less than twenty-five, Tina,” Lyle warned me while he consulted with someone on the phone.

”Twenty-five,” I said. ”Thousand?”

Andrew gave me a check right then and there, then went with me to cash it. On the sidewalk outside the bank I called Jennifer on her cell; she was just getting out of school and walking home. ”You have to sneak out tonight. Tonight's the night,” I told her. ”Be at my place at eleven.”

”Eleven, like eleven P.M.?” she said, stunned.

”Actually, make it half past ten,” I said. ”We have a lot to do.”

Six hours later there were five gay men waiting for her in the lost room. They helped her climb out of the crawl s.p.a.ce and slip through the darkness into one of the many empty bedrooms, where there was a makeup station, a hair station, party dresses in three different sizes, four evening jackets, and eight pairs of shoes for her to choose from.

”What is this?” she said, laughing.

”It's party time,” I told her. ”We're going to a club.”

She protested, but not too hard. ”It's a school night.”

”Yeah, you're going to have problems staying awake in history tomorrow,” I admitted, picking up a pair of strappy heels, hoping we got the right size.

”What is this you're wearing?” Andrew asked her, a little worried about that plaid skirt.

”It's a uniform, I go to a Catholic school up on Ninety-eighth,” she explained, eyeing the party dresses with undisguised hunger.