Twelve Rooms with a View. Theresa Rebeck

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      “I didn’t say that.” Len smiled. “I said we had a friendly arrangement.”

      “Like under the table, like friendly like that?” I asked.

      “Bill liked to fly under the radar,” he admitted with a small shrug. “He did prefer cash.”

      “How much did he charge you?” I asked, direct. Len looked at me sideways and then he went back to examining one of his moss beds, poking at it carefully with his middle finger. “One thousand dollars a month,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

      “You know what, Len?” I said.”I think this mossery is fantastic, and I see no reason why you couldn’t just keep it here for as long as you want. I’m gonna go make a phone call.”

      “Lovely.” Len smiled. “I’ll just continue my work then.”

      Figuring that I might need to keep the cash coming, it did seem like a reasonable idea to let this guy keep his mossery. But I also figured that this was maybe going to be a little bit of a problem, given that the first thing Lucy and Alison both said when they saw it was we have to get rid of the moss. I wasn’t entirely sure how I was going to finesse this situation but I felt pretty sure something would come to me. Anyway, I went back to TV Land and picked up the phone and started dialing, meaning I made it halfway through Lucy’s number before I realized that the phone was dead. There was nothing on the line—no clicks, no beeps, no dial tone, just nothing. I hung it up and tried again, and then I did that about eight more times, and then I plugged and unplugged the phone about eight times and then I tried it eight more times. Then I tried it in three other jacks, in three of the little bedrooms.

      “Something wrong?” Len asked me, hanging out of the kitchen door. I mean, obviously there was something wrong; I was holding the phone out and staring at it like it was about to explode.

      “The phone doesn’t work,” I told him. “I mean, it worked just an hour ago. Now it doesn’t work.”

      He held out his neat but dirty hand and I gave it to him. He listened for less than one second, then nodded. “Well,” he said. “I need to introduce you to Frank.”

      Frank was the doorman. Len took me downstairs to the front lobby, and there he was, Frank, a kind of good-looking Hispanic guy with a beard and really long hair, in a beige uniform with little gold things on the shoulders. He had one of those weird haircuts that are short in strange places, with a crazy zig-zag lightning bolt running down the back of his head. With the dopey uniform it looked really nuts, but he seemed nice enough.

      “Hey Len, what’s up?” Frank asked.

      “This is Tina Finn, Olivia’s daughter.” Len made a little wave with his hand, seeming to indicate for a moment that I might be some sort of fancy dish that was being served up. I felt like bowing.

      “Nice to meet you, Miss Finn,” said Frank, reaching out and shaking my hand politely. “I’m real sorry about your mom.”

      “Thanks,” I said.

      “Tina is going to be staying in the apartment for now, while they settle things up with the estate,” Len informed Frank. It was genius, seriously; coming out of Len, “she’s staying in the apartment” sounded pretty good. At least, Frank the doorman had no problem with it.

      “Well, welcome to the Edge,” he said. “If you need anything, you let me know.”

      “There is something,” Len nodded. “It looks like her phone’s been cut off. Could you put a call in about it?”

      “Sure. Who’s your carrier?” asked Frank, reaching for the phone receiver on his desk.

      “You know, I’m not sure who they had,” I said.

      “Well, let’s see then, maybe I’ll put a call in to Doug—that’s Bill’s son,” he told me. “There’s probably just been some mistake, he cut the phone off maybe. Did he know you were going to be staying up there?”

      “Yeah, we talked you know, we just talked yesterday about it,” I said. “Look, you don’t need to bother him, I’ll call him myself.”

      “I got it right here,” Frank said, dialing. “It’s no bother.” He was dialing away when Len tapped him on the shoulder.

      “It’s probably better to just give her the number,” Len said under his breath, like he was trying to keep me from hearing what he said. Frank looked at him, a little confused, and Len did that thing with his hands, opening them up, apologizing to the universe for the stupidity of the human race. “There’s got to be a lot going on, Frank. You probably don’t want to put yourself in the middle of it.” It sounded so much like he was taking care of Frank there that for a minute I forgot he was actually taking care of me.

      It was, however, starting to occur to old Frank that maybe this story didn’t add up. “But you did see Doug last night?” he asked, a little worried now while he rooted around for a pen.

      “We hadn’t figured out what we were doing last night, when we talked. Everything was such a mess. With Mom’s funeral, I was kind of a wreck and we hadn’t actually thought about the practicalities. I mean I was just like crying and crying so I really didn’t get the details straight,” I fibbed.

      “I know what that’s like.” Frank nodded. “I lost my mom fifteen years ago, I still miss her.” He looked at me and I swear to God, in that split second you could see the sadness rise up in his face, nothing too much, just enough to make his cheeks flush a little and his eyes well up. He got embarrassed right away and looked down, like he was still searching for that pen even though it was in his hand, and because that hideous uniform looked so terrible on him it made me feel a little bad to be lying like this. I mean, he was significantly nicer than Len, who probably was just taking care of me so that I didn’t mess with his moss. But this guy Frank was just a nice person who missed his mom. His little haircut was so sweet and stupid I thought my head was going to split.

      “Well…thanks Frank,” I finally said. “I’ll go call Doug right now and make sure he knows everything about me staying there and all that and you know make sure that he knows not to turn anything else off.” I turned away a little, so that Frank would have a moment of privacy to collect himself. And then there was old Len, at my elbow, showing me to the door, like a friendly undercover agent. “There’s a Verizon store two blocks up and one over, on Columbus,” he informed me cheerfully, under his breath. “They sell those throwaway phones. You don’t need a credit card, you can just pay cash, isn’t that convenient?”

      “Very,” I agreed. “Thanks for the tip, Len.”

      A throwaway phone was exactly the thing, of course, because I had no cell phone and no credit card and now no landline. So Len was right to suggest it, and while I was out putting his sensible suggestion into action I also poked around a couple of clothing stores so that I had something more than one skirt, one pair of jeans and one sweater in my wardrobe. I could have called that bonehead Darren and asked him to put all my clothes in a box and send them, but I had no reason to believe he would actually do that, even if he said he would. So I ducked into a couple of really cute little shops where I learned that my seven hundred dollars, minus one throwaway phone, might buy me one pair of excruciatingly expensive blue jeans and half a tank top, which seriously annoyed me until I found a Gap, where there was a whole lot of stuff on sale which fit fine and looked cool enough and cost quite a bit less. Then I was hungry and I had a burger in a seedy sort of deli place, СКАЧАТЬ