by Leslie Meier
“It must have spectacular views,” said Lucy. “Arnold Nelson wants to build that City Gate development there, doesn’t he?”
“Oh yes he does. But Brad and some of the committee members don’t want to see it become a private preserve for the very wealthy. They see it as a resource that should benefit all New Yorkers. Right now it’s only open to the public one day a week during the summer, but they’d like to expand so people could enjoy it year round. That demand hasn’t been very popular with the developers.”
Lucy remembered Brad talking about that at the AIDS ball. “It sounds like he’s got quite a fight on his hands,” she said, scraping up the last bits of broccoli.
“That he does,” agreed Sam, clearing the table. “Brownies for dessert?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
* * *
After enjoying coffee and brownies and watching the evening news with Sam, Lucy headed back out to visit Elizabeth in the hospital. She had checked in by phone several times but hadn’t had a chance to visit all day and was feeling guilty about neglecting her daughter. She needn’t have worried. When she arrived she found Elizabeth and Fiona watching newlyweds Jessica and Nick and giggling together.
“I can’t believe she actually complimented the Secretary of the Interior on the way she decorated the White House,” said Elizabeth.
“I heard one that was better than that,” said Fiona. “She read that she was pregnant in a tabloid newspaper so she got one of those tests at the drugstore to see if it was true.”
Elizabeth couldn’t stand it. She was clutching her stomach and pounding her heels against the bed.
“Well, I guess you’re feeling better,” said Lucy.
“Oh, Mom. Hi.”
“I can tell you missed me,” said Lucy. “What did you do all day?”
“They kept me busy with tests and food and medicine. Lance was here most of the day and then Fiona came.”
“What’s new at the magazine?” asked Lucy. “Any developments?”
“Fantastic news, actually,” said Fiona. Lucy loved her British accent. “Nobody else has gotten sick, and they’ve finished testing the office and it came up clean except for a tiny, tiny trace of anthrax, which they’ve eradicated.”
“That’s great.”
“It has its downside.” Fiona was examining her fingernails. “It means I have to go back to work tomorrow.”
Lucy was smiling sympathetically when Sidra gave a little tap on the door and came into the room holding a huge bunch of flowers that was almost as big as she was.
“How’s the patient?” she asked, bending down to hug Elizabeth. “I wanted to visit right away, but this is the soonest I could manage.”
“I feel great. Thanks for coming,” said Elizabeth, taking the bouquet and sniffing it appreciatively. “I’ve never seen such gorgeous flowers.”
“I stole them from the set,” she said, looking rather guilty. “Believe me, it doesn’t matter. They change them every day anyway.”
“I’ll see about a vase,” said Lucy, heading for the door.
“And I guess I’ll get moving,” said Fiona, with a big yawn. “Got to get up early tomorrow.”
“Who was that?” asked Fiona, as they walked down the hall.
“Oh, I can’t believe I didn’t introduce you. That’s Sidra Rumford; she’s my best friend’s daughter. She lives in the city and works on the Norah! TV show.”
Fiona’s eyes lit up. “Really? TV!”
“Don’t tell me you’re starstruck,” said Lucy. They had reached the elevator and were standing together.
“Sure, a little bit. Who isn’t?” Fiona was blushing. “But the truth is, I’m pretty sick of the magazine and I bet they could use a bright young thing like me on the show.”
“I’ll ask Sidra . . .” began Lucy.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” said Fiona. “Maybe you could just give me her phone number, and her name again. I think I’ve already forgotten it.”
To Lucy’s surprise, Fiona had already produced a memo book and a pencil and was waiting expectantly, so she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and gave her the number.
“Thanks,” said Fiona, just as the elevator doors slid open. “Cheerio!”
Lucy continued on to the nurse’s station where she was given a vase and returned to Elizabeth’s room. She found Sidra and Elizabeth deep in conversation.
“What’s going on?” she asked, setting the vase in the sink and filling it with water. Lucy wasn’t one for arranging flowers so she picked up the bouquet and plunked it into the vase.
“We were just talking,” said Sidra, taking the vase and rearranging the flowers. “I was telling Elizabeth about what happened on the show today.”
“I missed it. What was it about?”
Sidra’s hands, which had been flying about the arrangement, suddenly stopped. “It was about healthy food choices at holiday parties, and Rachael Ray was making a low-fat veggie dip when these two women in the audience got up and started screaming and throwing tomatoes at her and Norah. Rachael took one right in the face, and Norah’s cashmere sweater was ruined.”
“How terrible!”
“That’s awful,” chimed Elizabeth.
“Who were they? I thought everybody loved Norah.”
“Not these two, that’s for sure.”
“What were they so mad about?”
“That’s the weird thing. You’d think that the reason they disrupted the show was to get publicity for their cause, wouldn’t you? I mean, it goes out live on national TV so you’d think they’d at least have a sign or something. But they didn’t. Nothing.”
“Maybe it was personal,” suggested Lucy.
“Norah says she didn’t know them. She was really puzzled. Usually there are at least a couple of lawsuits against her, but right now there isn’t anything.” Sidra carefully added the last flowers to the arrangement and stepped back to study it. “She’s furious at the security people. They not only let them get in with their rotten tomatoes, but they didn’t hold them for questioning afterward. They just escorted them out.”
“How come they didn’t call the police?”
“That’s what Norah wants to know. Somebody messed up big-time. This time it was only tomatoes, but next time . . . ?” Sidra left the sentence unfinished and carried the arrangement over to the window where she set it on the sill. “There. Now I’ve got to go.”
Sidra was as good as her word, departing in a flurry of air kisses. But after she left, Lucy had a sense of déjà vu. She felt as if she’d been through this before: another close call, another lucky escape. It was the same thing all over again and she didn’t like it. After all, no matter how lucky you were, luck eventually ran out.
Chapter Sixteen
WHAT FRENCH GIRLS HAVE THAT YOU DON’T
Even though Lucy knew the Jolie offices had been thoroughly tested for anthrax, scrubbed and decontaminated by hazmat experts, she still hesitated when the elevator doors slid open on Friday morning and it took an act of faith to inhale when she stepped onto the freshly cleaned carpet. It smelled clean, sure, but deadly microbes could lurk in tiny crevices and it only took one to make you sick.
The receptionist at the desk opposite the elevator bank didn’t seem concerned about her health, however. She seemed happy to be back at work and greeted Lucy cheerily.
“I heard your daughter is doing much better,” she said. “That must be a big relief.”
“It is,” said Lucy, “thanks for asking about her.” She launched into the story she’d concocted to explain her visit to the office. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. I’m worried about the hospital bill and need to talk to somebody. . . .”
“Of course, all that time in intensive care, the bill must be enormous.” The receptionist pursed her lips and furrowed her brow in sympathy. “Don’t you have health insurance?”
“We do, but you know how it is. One big claim and they drop you. And I really do think th
e magazine bears some responsibility.”
The receptionist chewed her lip and consulted a staff directory. “Actually, this is the editorial side. I don’t know much about the business end of things; they’re not even in this building. I guess Camilla would be the logical person to talk to.”
She was reaching for the phone when Lucy spoke. “She’s got so much on her plate right now, I don’t want to bother her.” She paused before suggesting the true object of her visit. “What about Elise?”
“I think you’re right. Elise would be better.” After a quick phone conversation she sent Lucy down the hallway to Elise’s office.
The fashion editor met her at the door, and Lucy couldn’t help thinking how different she looked now from the photo in the yearbook. The nerdy biochemistry student had transformed herself into a sophisticated businesswoman. The glasses were gone, the frizzy hair had been straightened and highlighted, her tweed suit was beautifully tailored, and her make-up was impeccable. She had also made a remarkable recovery from yesterday’s funeral. If she was still grieving for her old college friend Nadine, there was no sign of it. Today she was all business.
“Lucy, this is an unexpected pleasure,” she said. “Come right on in.” When Lucy had seated herself and declined coffee, Elise took her place on the other side of the desk and tented her hands, displaying a flawless manicure and a gorgeous gold ring with a large blue stone. “What can I do for you?”
Knees together, hands in lap, Lucy took a deep breath and studied the large photograph on the wall behind Elise. It pictured a sculpture of a bare-breasted woman on a chariot accompanied by two smaller women, also bare breasted, on either side of her.
Noticing her interest, Elise enlightened her. “Boadicea,” she said. “As queen of the Britons she led a rebellion against the Romans.”
“She must have been quite a girl,” said Lucy, taking in the spear Boadicea was holding aloft and the scythed wheels of her chariot.
“Oh, she was,” said Elise. “But I don’t think you’ve come here to discuss ancient British history.”
“No,” said Lucy. “This is a tad awkward, you see, but I’ve been in contact with my health insurance company, and the legal department there seems to think the magazine bears some responsibility for Elizabeth’s situation.”
Elise raised her eyebrows skeptically. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Well, me either,” said Lucy. “But they seem to feel that since the illness was the result of an intentional poisoning rather than something contagious like the measles that there was a certain degree of negligence. . . .” She was relieved when Elise interrupted her.
“Enough,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I have no head for business. You’ll have to talk to our legal department.”
“And where would that be?”
“Over on Forty-ninth Street.” She was writing the information on a slip of paper and handed to Lucy. “I’ll call and tell them to expect you.”
“Thanks so much,” said Lucy, standing. “I hate to be a bother, especially at such a difficult time.” She looked down at the floor for a moment, then raised her eyes. “I know you and Nadine were old friends. From college, right?”
“That’s right.” Elise checked her watch.
“And Camilla, too. Amazing. It’s a new world, isn’t it, where women have their own old-girl networks?” She managed a chuckle, which she hoped would signal female solidarity to Elise. “And men always say that women are too catty to maintain long-term friendships. You three are, well, were, the exception.”
“I’m sorry but I have a meeting. . . .” Elise wasn’t about to be drawn into a discussion of feminine ethics and was on her feet, heading for the door.
Lucy ignored the cue that it was time to leave and sat in her chair, turning to face Elise. “What’s the secret?” she asked quickly. “How did you manage it? To stay friends all these years, I mean? Especially when you all have such different personalities. And Nadine had a husband; that must have changed the dynamics a bit, no?”
“We didn’t ask awkward questions,” said Elise, opening the door and tapping her foot. “I think that was it.”
Lucy slid to the edge of her chair and picked up her bag, but rattled on. “You know, I just have one quick question I’m dying to ask you. I hope you don’t mind.”
Elise definitely looked as if she did mind, but Lucy didn’t give her a chance to object.
“I am so grateful that this makeover gave my daughter the opportunity to come into contact with a successful woman like you. I think you have so much to offer, with your example and your wisdom. . . .”
Elise interrupted. “Would you mind getting to the point?”
“Oh, sorry. I do tend to go on,” said Lucy, standing up. “Well, the question is this. You see, Elizabeth’s been majoring in chemistry, biochemistry in fact, terrific grades, she’s a natural. But she’s heard that there’s a lot of discrimination against women in graduate programs, and she’s not sure if she should continue with it or switch to another field that’s more hospitable to women, like communications, for example. I mean, she doesn’t want to keep banging her head against that glass ceiling, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have any experience with that.”
“Really? I thought I heard somewhere that you were a biochemistry major, that’s why I thought you’d be the right person to advise Elizabeth. How did you end up working at a fashion magazine? Do you miss biochemistry?”
Elise was way ahead of her. “No. Mrs. Stone, I haven’t been mixing up anthrax in my home lab, if that’s what you’re getting at. Now I really must ask you to go.”
“Oh, I never meant to imply anything of the kind,” said Lucy, making her way as slowly as she could manage to the open door, where Elise was standing. “The thought never crossed my mind. I just wondered why you left your field for fashion.”
“I think you could say I just fell into it.” Elise stepped forward and raised her arm against the door, effectively forcing Lucy toward the hallway.
Lucy countered by leaning closer and whispering in her ear. “I understand. You’re probably too good a friend to say anything, but it was because of Camilla, wasn’t it? She had some serious emotional problems back then, didn’t she? Didn’t I hear somewhere that she attempted suicide in college?”
Elise’s face was stony. “Where did you hear that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. People talk. Maybe I read it somewhere.” Lucy lowered her voice. “Of course I don’t believe half of what I read. It isn’t true, is it?”
“I’m not in the habit of gossiping,” snapped Elise, giving the door a push. “You’d have to ask Camilla about that.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to bother her. She certainly seemed awfully fragile at the funeral,” said Lucy, blocking the door with her foot. They were now standing toe-to-toe, and Lucy looked Elise straight in the eye. “It was very obvious how much she relies on you, now that Nadine is gone.”
Elise stared back, and Lucy realized that even brown eyes could look very cold indeed. “Good day, Mrs. Stone,” she said.
Lucy had to step smartly to avoid being hit in the face by the door.
Well, well, well, she muttered to herself, heading down the hallway in the direction of the beauty department. Elise hadn’t exactly confessed, but she had been extremely defensive about her relationships with Camilla and Nadine and she’d been awfully quick to deny having anything to do with the anthrax. Lucy felt sure she’d hit a nerve and she intended to keep up the pressure.
Meanwhile, she wanted to get on with phase two of her plan, which was to search Nadine’s office. She was pretty sure she could count on Fiona to cooperate, considering the way she and Elizabeth had become such good friends. But when she got to the beauty department it was Phyllis who greeted her.
“Hi, Mrs. Stone. How’s our little patient? Would she like some cologne or body lotion? This just came in yesterday—a new scent from Stella McCartney.”
Lucy took the box, which was beautifully tied with a purple bow. “Thank you. That’s very sweet. I know she’ll love it.”
Phyllis held up her hands in a gesture of innocence. “No anthrax, I promise. The package is sealed.”
“It never crossed my mind. Elizabeth was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Lucy paused a moment, thinking. She hadn’t expected Phyllis to be so friendly, especially after her confrontations with Elise and Camilla. She decided to press her advantage. “Any new developments in the anthrax investigation?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” said Phyllis.
“What’s the gossip here? What are people saying when they stand around the water cooler?”
The question seemed to fluster Phyllis. “I’d love to talk it over with you but I’ve got to run. I’m already late for an editorial meeting.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t keep you. Is Fiona here?”
“No, she’s in photo.”
“I don’t mind waiting here,” said Lucy, seeing an opportunity to get into Nadine’s office. “I have a message for her from Elizabeth.”
Phyllis was fiddling with the doorknob. “Do you believe it? Now we have to lock our offices whenever we leave them. It’s a new security directive. It’s ridiculous but I can’t let you stay here alone.”
“Better safe than sorry,” said Lucy, who was in reality feeling extremely sorry. Now she wouldn’t be able to get a look at Nadine’s office unless Fiona was willing to risk her job by violating the new security policy. She decided there was no harm in asking, but there was no sign of Fiona when she arrived at the photo department.
“Fiona? I sent her to get rose petals for the shoot,” said Pablo. He was squinting through the camera at an arrangement of beauty products spread on a white drop. “The little one continues to recover, yes?”
“Yes, yes she does.”
He clucked his tongue. “Such a shame. Nadine, I won’t miss her and her meddling. But for a sweet young girl to suffer, that is very bad.”