I was in shock. How had she let things get this bad, and go this far? She hadn’t come clean to her parents or admitted to us what was happening, and now her name and face were being disparaged in the tabloids.
Though I tried to keep at a remove, I couldn’t remain unaffected as I looked at Anna. She was so visibly upset. For a moment, we tried to console her. “Nobody cares about that anyway,” we said.
Then we snapped out of it: Why were we worrying about Anna’s reputation when my life was falling apart? Why was that the cause of Anna’s tears?
“You being in the papers, who cares?” cried Kacy. “Do you know what her life has been like?”
“But all I’m doing is, like, working on this,” Anna whined. “I don’t, like, sleep. I don’t do anything. I mean—”
“Who gives a fuck about you sleeping?” Beth exclaimed.
Beth was dressed like a chic mom with a country club membership, but when it came to confronting Anna, she didn’t pull any punches. I appreciated her forcefulness. She was voicing many of the things I wanted to say. This allowed me to stay focused on Anna’s reactions.
“—what am I going to do? Am I going to kill myself ? Like, what am I supposed to do?” Anna whimpered.
Oh, spare me the theatrics, I thought. “Do your parents know anything about your situation right now, at all?” I asked.
“They’re not going to do anything about it,” Anna said dismissively. Her tears had stopped.
Kacy jumped in. “What do you mean they can’t do anything about it?”
“They’re not going to do anything about it,” Anna clarified. “They would want me to sort through this myself.”
Beth stopped the conversation and pointed out the difference between my pain and Anna’s pain. “Her pain is fucking real. It’s not pain because ‘my accountant didn’t do this.’ She’s gonna be fucked, her life is fucked,” she explained. “Just give us the truth, Anna, because once that opens up you can breathe.”
Anna was completely calm now. “I never lied about anything; this is what’s happening,” she said.
“But we don’t have any information!” I cried.
Kacy cut in. “I have a question. Why don’t you want to tell your parents? Give me the reason why you don’t want them involved, because you need a lifeline here.”
“They know about it,” Anna said.
“Are they pissed at you because you’ve done it before; because you spend too much money; because they’re mean people; because they don’t want to help? Give me a reason why they are not coming to your rescue,” Kacy implored.
“They say [I] should be sorting it out with the bank, and this is their money in the end, so . . .” This was a classic Anna response—she blamed both her parents and the bank in one go.
“This is whose money?” Kacy asked.
“My trust comes from my parents.”
“Why can’t you access the money?” I asked.
“Because I have, like, monthly disbursement. All my trust is in the securities until eighteen months after my twenty-fifth birthday, which is supposed to be in September, and they just keep changing. They don’t follow through. They were supposed to set up everything by April and they still did not.”
She was like a malfunctioning computer spitting out words.
“What happened with your lease?” I asked, changing the topic of conversation. “That building got let to someone else.”
“What’s that?” Anna said.
“The Park Avenue South building, somebody else leased it.”
“Who?”
“That Swedish photography agency.”
“They did not,” she said in disbelief. “It was Fotografiska? No.”
Kacy said, “They just had an announcement—”
“Where?” Anna snapped.
“It was in the paper.”
“Four days ago,” I added.
When she asked to see it, I picked up my phone and paused the recording before showing her the article. For a millisecond Anna appeared crestfallen. I took my phone back.
“It’s fake news,” she said.
We refocused on Anna’s outstanding debts. Kacy asked why Anna couldn’t simply go home, sort out her finances, and come back.
“It doesn’t help me going anywhere,” she answered. “I need to resolve this. If I leave, I can’t come back, like, never again. Not for a moment. Like never, ever again.”
“Is there any other hotel that has anything against you?” Kacy inquired.
“I don’t know,” Anna sighed. “Just read the stuff that they [wrote] about me and you’ll [learn] something new.”
Kacy circled back to how little we cared about the article—although, inwardly, I did care. The article confirmed that the Anna problem was getting bigger. First me, then Jesse, Kacy, and the bankers and lawyers Anna had mentioned when she slept in my apartment. Now this. Everything she touched was falling apart. “You can change your image anytime,” Kacy said, “but you still did things. You went above your head, Anna. You spent money you didn’t have, and that’s not good.”
“I do have it,” Anna insisted.
“But you knew you were going to a hotel . . . ,” Kacy went on.
“You spent money that you don’t have yet,” I ventured. There was a pause. “Is that right?”
“I spent money that I’ve been promised to I’ll have access this afternoon.” Another jumble of meaningless words. Afternoon had come and gone; it was dark outside.
“But they say this afternoon. How many months has this been going on?” asked Kacy. “How many promises? The check, the this, the that?”
“Do your parents not realize that [this is] a problem?” I said.
“What are they going to do?” Anna shrugged.
“They can do anything,” Kacy answered. “They could actually say, ‘You know what, we’ll give you this [money] right now, but then we’re gonna take it out of your trust.’ It’s as easy as that.”
“For them, it’s not because of the amount or the money,” Anna explained. She was totally composed now—no stress, drama, or tears—and described her parents’ attitude as though it meant nothing. “They just want me to sort it out.” Again, I thought, what needs sorting out? What was the problem?
“But they’d rather you go to jail? If they find you guilty, you’re gonna be in jail. They’re not gonna just say, ‘Oh, here’s a fine.’ ”
“There is no debtors’ prison,” said Anna, as if stating a fact. “No one is gonna go to jail.”
“How are you paying for any hotel?” I asked.
“My family office,” Anna said.
Kacy interjected to say she’d called the Greenwich and there’d been no reservation under Anna’s name.
“My family office did that,” Anna told her. “It’s under their name . . . I dunno.” How could one possibly check into a hotel without knowing the name on the reservation?
“So, Anna,” Kacy resumed, “is there any way that we can at least talk to your parents?”
Beth cut in before Anna could respond. It was a jumbled interrogation. “You’ve never been in a situation like this?” she asked Anna.
“No” was Anna’s response. Kacy spoke over Beth to remind Anna about the Four Seasons in Casablanca. “This is not the first time,” she reminded her.
“This is like—I’m not, like, lying,” Anna said argumentatively.
“You’d rather go to court with this [than talk to your parents]?” Kacy stammered.
“I don’t have a choice!” Anna squeaked. “It’s not like I’m choosing to go rather than do this or that, this is just what happens.” She was irritated but still without tears.
“But, Anna, you could talk to your father and mother!” Kacy argued.
“But, Anna, then you’re full of shit,” Beth announced. “You could say whatever the fuck you wanted right now. We just need the truth to know how to move forward. That’s it. We don’t care if you didn’t come from anything. I don’t
care if you came from fucking Serbia. That doesn’t matter.”
“It’s like we’re missing an essential piece of this puzzle,” I said.
“There’s something missing here,” Kacy concurred.
“We need the truth,” Beth emphasized.
“What is missing?” Anna taunted. “What piece is that? What’s missing?”
There was a pause.
Kacy filled the silence. “The truth is that I think that your parents should know about what’s going on. We need to talk to your father and mother because forget this trust shit.”
“My parents are going to buy me, like, a one-way ticket to Germany, and they’ll tell me to go get a job,” Anna said.
“Well, at least let them pay your bills first and then you can figure it out from there,” Kacy quipped.
“They’re gonna tell me to go get a job and pay my bills myself.”
“But if they understand that somebody else is hurting,” tried Kacy, “that this person is hurting here, that she really needs her money, and this is a good friend of yours, and you used her—”
I interrupted. “Do you have family? Like, living family?” I stammered. It suddenly clicked. There was a foundational lie.
“Yes . . .” Anna said quietly.
“What is your father’s name?” Beth asked.
Anna hesitated. “I do have my father.”
“What’s his name?” Beth pressed.
“Daniel . . . Daniel.” Anna pronounced the name slowly, and twice.
“Daniel . . . ?”
“Decker Delvey,” Anna finished.
“Daniel Decker Delvey?” Beth parroted.
“Yeah,” Anna said.
“So why don’t we just talk to them?” Kacy said. “Let somebody talk to your parents and make them understand.”
“I am already doing all of that,” Anna replied, getting agitated. “I am trying everything. I’m not just like sitting around all day and counting stars.”
“What is going on that you feel like you wanna commit suicide? What is the reason for that?” Kacy asked.
“Because nothing is working out!” Anna answered.
“What’s not working out?” Kacy pushed.
“Like nothing is working out,” Anna whined.
“As friends of Rachel, we need to help her out,” Beth insisted. I had only just met her—she was Kacy’s friend, really—but I appreciated her advocating on my behalf.
“I’ve been in touch with Rachel every day,” Anna replied.
“But you’ve been saying the same thing for two months,” I objected.
“This is what they’ve been telling me,” Anna alleged, “and I have, like, ten people who are witnesses.” Her words were meaningless.
Beth went off on Anna, poking holes in her excuses. Beth had dealt with plenty of bankers and lawyers through the years, and there was no chance that they were responsible for the type of delay Anna was describing. “It—does—not—happen,” she said. “There’s no fucking excuse, because I know.”
I kept my eyes fixed on Anna, studying the way she moved, the way she fluttered her eyes as she decided what to say next, the way she had an answer for everything.
“You’re not even aware of my situation,” Anna said.
“That’s what we’re asking you,” I cried.
“Because you’re not telling us,” Kacy said. “We keep asking you.”
“Because you’re just telling me, ‘Oh, you are lying,’ and I’m not,” Anna said. “I have all these lawyers who are witnesses.” She was dancing around the point—shifting, spinning, and deflecting.
“If you cannot hear what is going on that is so wrong,” Beth began.
“I see how that’s wrong, but this is what I’m being told,” Anna said.
Wondering how Anna would react, I decided to bring up Tommy. “Anna, you’ve obviously had trouble in the past,” I started.
“Like what?” she said.
“Like Tommy.”
“I never had any financial troubles with him,” she claimed.
“He definitely loaned you money, and—”
“No, he didn’t,” she interrupted.
“—had to threaten you to get it back.”
When she continued to deny this, I begged her: “I’d rather know you had no money, and just have truth, than hear these elaborate lies.”
“What’s your plan?” Beth asked. “To leave the country, not come back, and then do the same shit in another country?”
“And what are you paying a lawyer for?” Kacy asked. “He cannot do anything because you’re guilty.”
“She doesn’t have the money to pay him,” said Beth. “He doesn’t have his retainer.” Kacy and Beth spoke about the lawyer. I talked to Anna.
“Are your parents mad at you?” I asked.
“I don’t know if they’re mad at me. They’ll tell me to sort it out myself.”
“How do you know that they’ll say that? What’s the worst-case scenario, they’ll tell you to come back?”
“Yeah, they’re gonna buy me, like, a one-way ticket and tell me to get a job,” she said again.
“But it sounds like things here aren’t going very well. So don’t you think at some point you’re gonna have to?”
“I mean . . . I’m doing everything I can. Like, I’m literally staying up all night.”
“But it’s not doing anything,” I said.
“I know, but it’s like—what else could I be doing? I’m doing everything I can. I’m on the phone with everyone. What else can I be doing?”
“Is there a date in September when this will definitely be over?” I wanted a reason to believe. This was my last, pathetic, desperate attempt to revive my faith in Anna.
“It should be in September—you know, it’s not like I’m taking care of everything but you. It’s, like, I have all my other stuff—”
“Well, I know that. I don’t pretend that’s not the case. I just wonder if—is there a date in September you think—?”
“No, but it shouldn’t be in September—it should be like tomorrow,” she said.
“That’s not the point. What was the original date in September?” I pushed, testing what Tommy had told me.
“It wasn’t September,” she said. And then, without explanation, Anna began discussing her trial date and the fact that it was set for September 5, one day before her ESTA visa would expire once again—three months after her return from Morocco. My head spun. She had completely dropped (or ignored) the thread of my question.
“She’s got an answer for everything,” said Beth. “Okay, so you know what I think? You are not being honest.”
“I am being honest,” Anna said defensively. She had no tears, no anguish; only scorn. How was she so calm?
“You’re not fucking being honest, Anna. Because you’ve got so many fucking bullshit stories.”
“Like what?” Anna asked, with a dare in her voice. “All my story’s the same. My story is the same and consistent and I’m doing everything I can. I’m not, like, being out all every night!”
“You keep saying that,” said Kacy. “It’s not about you being out. You’re not a child.”
“It’s about you having to pay somebody money,” Beth said.
“It’s about being responsible,” said Kacy.
“She’s full of shit. She’s full of shit. She’s got nothing,” Beth declared.
“How can you say that?” Anna questioned.
“I know your story,” Beth said skeptically. “Your story is—”
“Can you explain my story to me?” Anna interrupted, taking the bait.
“Your story is that . . . none of it’s true,” Beth replied.
“Can you explain to me why my story is not true?” Anna was spinning, doing anything possible not to be the one having to talk. Her tone was defiant, almost haughty.
“What the fuck are you questioning me for?” Beth snapped.
“Okay, everybody calm down,” Kacy interject
ed.
“Just explain to me my story that you think I presented to you that’s not true,” Anna persisted.
“How do you go to fucking Morocco? How do you do this? How do you do that? How do you not have the right accountant? There’s no explanation because it doesn’t exist,” Beth said.
“Well, I did those things. It must exist.” Anna was smirking now, gaining confidence.
“No, because you’re like a [transient],” Beth said.
“I think what Beth is trying to say is that all the roads are leading to—”
Beth interrupted. “No, listen, I’ve lived in Eastern Europe. I’ve lived in Russia.”
Kacy and Beth spoke over each other until Anna chimed in. “Can anybody explain what’s wrong with my story?”
“Your story is a never-ending fucking story,” Beth answered. I knew she was right.
“She’s too skilled at manipulation to have this conversation,” I said, crying but composed. “She doesn’t work like that. I’ve seen this for two months.”
“You are not giving a straight story,” Beth said bitingly.
“I’m German and I have a bank in Switzerland. How does Russia have anything to do with that?”
“Because originally where is your family from?” Beth asked.
“Germany,” Anna quickly answered. I thought about Tommy telling me that Anna’s father was a Russian billionaire. Something wasn’t right here.
“Your family’s from Germany?” Beth asked again.
“Yes,” said Anna.
“And where are your parents from?”
“They’re from Germany.”
“Everything in her life has changed because of this shit,” Kacy said, refocusing on me.
“How do you think my life is?” Anna asked.
“It’s not about you. You did it,” Kacy cried. “You got what you wanted out of this deal. It’s not about you, Anna. It’s not about you. That’s the problem. You’ve gotta step out of yourself and think about someone else. And it’s not about you or your shopping or your hair or your nails or your massage or your whatever. This is about real fucking life. This girl is fucking working her ass off, just like you maybe are, but you borrowed money on her card.”
My Friend Anna Page 19