by Avery Aster
Coming back into the Barclay, I pop my head into the little nook that’s his office.
Glasses resting on his nose, he glances over at me and says, “Found it.”
I give Orlane a lamb treat from my coat pocket and tell him to stay, then take a seat next to Carmine and look at the screen.
“Camera one is of our lobby.” He points to a monitor. “Camera two is of the first-floor hallway. It’s mainly for the elevator, but look, you can see your front door.”
The two videos are playing in sync with one another, same day, same time.
“Wait. There’s Maxine leaving. Then Reid. And Jana.” I lean in to see if I’m missing anything.
He slows the tape.
“No one is coming in or going out of your apartment after Jana, Mrs. Adler.”
Just as I’m about to give up hope, I see something on the second monitor, the one that records the elevator and first-floor hallway. The staircase door opens.
A shadowy figure in a hoodie comes down the hall. Reaching up for the lens of the camera, the stranger places something black over it, causing the screen to go dark.
“Did you see that?”
Angry, Carmine is on his feet, marching out of his office, through the lobby and down the hall.
“Mrs. Adler. Come. Look.”
I catch up with him, staring at the camera.
“I’ll be damned.”
“I don’t believe it.”
He reaches up to remove the tape, but I shout, “No, don’t. I’m going to get gloves and take it off with some tweezers. There are fingerprints on there. I’m certain of it. Wait right here.” I take Orlane and we head into my apartment. I untie his leash, open the back door, and let him out to play on the terrace. In the kitchen, I slide on my yellow dish gloves, then grab a pair of tweezers from the bathroom and a chair from the kitchen.
In the hallway, I stand on the chair to pull the black duct tape off with the tweezers and stick it onto a piece of paper, which I then slide into an envelope for Keely.
“Should we call the police?”
“And tell them what, that someone taped the camera? They’ll laugh at this. We have no proof they broke into my house and tried to kill me. Not yet anyway.”
“Mrs. Adler. Whoever drugged you that night… they came from inside this building.” Carmine’s face is etched in worry.
A chill runs up the back of my spine.
I don’t get much work done after that. Sure, I keep my appointments, seeing patients, listening, offering advice and creating life strategies for them; however, I’m not really present, at least not like I usually am.
There’s another message on my voice mail from that doctor who saw me at Bellevue. “Mrs. Adler, you didn’t come in for our session last week. We really need to talk. Please call me.”
Now that I know for certain someone tampered with that camera and there are indeed a third set of fingerprints on the suicide note, I simply refuse to give into his hysteria and nonsense that I tried to kill myself.
Bo texts me that he’s going for a jog in Central Park with Orlane after work, and I let him know I’m leaving the office. On the way home I pick up a bottle of rosé. Perfect for this spring weather.
Once home, I pour myself a glass, then open the terrace doors and go outside, sitting on the chaise lounge. No dog. No husband. No poop to pick up. No man to appease. It’s nice to come home to an empty house. Don’t get me wrong, I love being married, but sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I hadn’t.
Things will be changing soon. Our license to become foster parents will be going through. We had our final home inspection a few weeks ago. All the paperwork is ‘in process.’
I take a sip of the wine, admiring the pinkish color.
Originally Bo had only wanted to foster a newborn, thinking it would be easier on us. However, given my upbringing and childhood, I quickly persuaded him to let us foster a preteen. So our options are open, any age really, any gender. Hell, we’re even open to fostering a transgender child if they need a home. We learned in our parenting class that over forty percent of all homeless children in the New York City area are LGBT. My heart breaks for them. All of them.
The doorbell rings. I shout, “It’s open.”
My neighbors Jana and Maxine walk in carrying two glasses with them.
“Darling, I saw you from my kitchen window, sitting out here, drinking that wine, loving this weather. I just had to join you.” Maxine takes a seat next to me.
“And I saw her in the hall and decided to tag along,” Jana adds in her Sint Maarten accent. Dutch with a hint of French, her exotic voice goes nicely with her beautiful face.
“Where’s Hollis and the baby?”
“Across town. At my mother-in-law’s. I have a headache.” She winks.
Jana’s mother-in-law makes Jane Fonda’s character in Monster-in-Law look like a saint.
You know that moment during a wedding ceremony where the officiant asks if anyone objects, and to speak now or forever hold his or her peace? Well, Mrs. De Vries couldn’t help herself: she objected.
“I just love your backyard, Piper,” Maxine compliments. “I like how the flowers separate your property from Reid’s. I think fences, especially in Manhattan, can be so tacky.”
“If taken care of properly, the perennials will last a long time,” Jana says, pouring herself a glass.
“Speaking of Reid, how is he?” Maxine asks, crossing her right leg over her left, stretching out. When I don’t reply, she turns to Jana searching for an answer, then back to me.
I shrug. “I’ve been a little preoccupied with my own drama. I haven’t been able to touch base with him yet.”
“Oh really, darling? Everything okay?”
I force a smile but don’t give a reply.
“The first year of marriage, the paper year, is such a bitch,” Jana says.
“Oh, Bo and I are fine. Our marriage is great. That’s not the issue.”
“Then what is?”
“No one has said anything to you about the night we had dinner?” I’m in shock over how clueless both of them look. Especially Maxine. I swear if it doesn’t involve real estate, the arts, or a party, she isn’t interested. I’ve come to accept that about her.
“Well, don’t leave us in suspense. What’s going on?”
I tell them about how the doctor and Bo accused me of trying to kill myself. I tell them about the note. I tell them about the drugs they found in my system.
Jana’s face goes ash white. Maxine’s mouth hangs open dramatically.
What I keep to myself is the video Carmine and I found. Largely because I promised him I’d keep a lid on it and don’t want to get him in trouble.
Maxine, who sits on the cooperative board for the building and knows everyone in every unit, would have a fit. Probably get his ass fired for not calling the police, and he’d lose his pension and all those years of hard work he’s put into this place.
“If you didn’t try to kill yourself and Bo was out of town, then who did?” Jana reaches into her front pocket and pulls out her vapor cigarette. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
Maxine shakes her head and takes a sip of her wine.
We all sit in silence for a minute.
Worry fills me. I shouldn’t have shared this with them. They have enough going on in their own lives. “I’m going to be fine. Forget I said anything.”
“Forget nothing. This is crazy. We need to have a tenant meeting.” Maxine gets to her feet.
“No we do not.”
Jana exhales the odorless smoke into the air through her mouth. Watching it climb the sky, she adds nonchalantly, “I have a 9-milimeter. You can borrow it if you like. You know, for protection.”
“You do not!” Shocked, eyes narrowing, Maxine puts her hands on her hips and leans forward.
“What in the hell do you have a gun for?” Surprised, I sit up.
“With all the money laundering and crime that goes on in Sint Maarten,
we always kept a gun in the house. It’s just what people do over there.”
“Not here, honey.” Maxine shakes her head. “In films, Manhattan is often portrayed as some crime-infested ghetto. But in reality, especially in this area, the Upper East Side is one of the safest places on Earth. Hello, this is the Barclay. The waiting list to get a unit in this building is several years long.”
I’m trying not to judge, although I’ve never known anyone to keep a gun in their house, especially with a toddler at home. Regardless, if it makes Jana and Hollis feel safe and sleep at night, then so be it.
“Thank you for the offer, Jana. I’ll think about it.”
Maxine glares at me as if I’m losing my mind. Maybe I am.
A light goes on in Reid’s apartment, casting a glow upon us.
“Look, Reid Tremont lives.” Jana stands on her tippy-toes, trying to get a better look. “I think he’s moving around in there.”
“Let’s have a dinner party tomorrow night. Out here on the terrace. We’ll invite Reid and get to the bottom of what’s been bothering him once and for all.”
“Sounds good to me.” I say, realizing that Bo will again be out of town tomorrow. I hate to eat alone. As much as I fantasize about coming home to an empty house with no husband or dog, the mere thought of having a meal by myself makes me want to climb the wall.
“Me too,” Jana agrees, then pours herself another glass.
“Aren’t you still breastfeeding?” I ask, noticing this is her third glass.
“Don’t be so American.” Jana rolls her eyes and takes another sip.
With Bo back in Palm Beach, I’m able to cook a dish I know he hates: roasted Brussels sprouts and mushrooms with gremolata and quinoa. I place the Brussels sprouts and mushrooms in a deep baking dish, adding a pinch of salt and pepper to taste and some olive oil. Placing them in the oven, I set the timer for twenty minutes.
There’s a knock at the door, and then I hear it open.
“It’s me, Maxine.”
“In the kitchen.”
“Darling, what is that yummy zest smell?”
“Gremolata.”
“Are we having veal?”
“No, tossed salad. I may put some pork chops on the grill if everyone is hungry enough.”
“Jana isn’t coming.” She makes a pouty face.
“What? Why?”
“Last-minute modeling assignment. Apparently Giselle and Kendall backed out, so Jana’s agent called and got her on the next flight to London.”
“Wow. Jana lives the quiet life.”
“Yeah, and how about last night, her telling us she has a gun?” Maxine takes a seat on the bar stool next to the counter. Leaning forward, she adjusts her bracelet. “Have you ever shot one before?”
“No. You?”
“Yes, a few times. My first hubby used to take me to the shooting range all the time. He viewed it as a sport. Loved it. I hated it.” She adjusts her lip-gloss with her pinky. “Saw Hollis earlier in the mailroom. He’ll come by later for dessert. We are having dessert, aren’t we?”
I laugh. “Reid finally texted me back about an hour ago. Apologized for going MIA and said he’d tell us why when he got here. And he’s bringing cake. Apparently he’s been baking up a storm.”
“Hmmm. Ever notice that when Reid bakes, there’s something bad brewing on the horizon?” She raises her right hand to her chin and cocks her head at me.
With an air of classic elegance, I lean against the counter and admire Maxine’s beauty. Bo says that when they were in college together men would fall over her. I can see why. She’s Taylor Swift statuesque and has a striking face with a pronounced jaw and full lips, similar to Angelina Jolie.
“Hello, ladies!” Reid comes in through the backyard.
Seeing his handsome face makes me smile. I walk over to him as he places the cake plate on the counter. Wrapping my arms around him tightly, I take in the scent of his soapy freshness. “I’ve missed you.” I pull back and give him a kiss on his freshly shaven cheek.
“Drink?” Maxine holds out a wine glass for him as he nods.
“Hungry?” I ask, and he nods a second time. I pull the pork chops out of the fridge. “Let’s get these started on the grill.”
A half hour later, we’re well into our meals and have already finished two bottles of wine.
“So… what’s been going on?” Maxine asks in Reid’s direction.
“I’m sorry I’ve been a recluse the last few days. Animated World, the company that sells and distributes my cartoon to all of the newspapers around the country, filed bankruptcy last week.”
“Yikes. I’m so sorry, Reid.” I put down my fork.
“Oh. Honey. What’ll happen to Incredible Irene?” Maxine asks, then shoves a small piece of cake in her mouth. One would think with her appearance that she didn’t eat, but quite the contrary.
“I dunno.” His eyes glaze up with tears. “They own the rights to all of my work. This could get held up in court for years. As of today, all of the newspapers nationwide have stopped running my cartoon.”
I reach for my glass of water and take a sip.
Maxine shakes her head, commenting on how horrible it is to work so hard for something and have it taken away from you. “I know just how you feel. A few years ago, I’d presold nearly eighty percent of a new high-rise that was going to be built by the Krump Organization over on West Side Highway. It would change the skyline of the city. My commission check would’ve been in the millions. I could’ve been the next Barbara Corcoran. Rich as hell, I tell ya! I could appoint minions to do it all for me and never have to work again. No more open houses. No more weekends. No more crap. Then without warning, Krump goes bankrupt.”
“What happened?” Reid asks, leaning closer.
“Not only did the buyers who placed twenty-percent deposits down only get half their money back, but I was out of a job and that entire Rolodex of people I’d sold to wanted me dead because of it.”
“How can a company do that?” he asks.
“Krump fell victim to inflating construction costs and lack of funding. There were issues with the soil and the licensing of his name. The list went on and on.” Maxine seethed for a more minutes of it, perhaps trying to make Reid feel better about his situation. From the look on his face, I think it only made him feel worse.
We eat the rest of our cake in silence.
Hollis arrives with his adorable baby in his arms.
“Saved you a piece.” Reid takes the child as I give him a plate.
“Thank you,” Hollis says and smiles at us. “Jana sends her love. She’ll be home in a few days.”
“She’s in London, yes?” I ask.
“No, Palm Beach. Some fashion shoot on a yacht.”
“Sorry I must’ve misunderstood Maxine. Could’ve sworn she said London.”
“The assignment is for Burberry of London clothing.”
“Ohhh.” Maxine laughs over my mix-up.
“That’s where Bo is tonight too. They should meet up for drinks,” I say as Maxine glares at me, a scouring look on her face. One I’d never seen before. Her last husband, a much older man who has more money than God, left her for a model; I think that’s probably why she keeps Jana at arm’s length. Personally, I think she’s harmless.
The doorbell rings and Orlane barks. Realizing everyone is here, I get up and go for the foyer. I open the door to see Carmine standing there with a vase full of beautiful flowers.
“Wow! Those are beautiful. Bo shouldn’t have,” I say, taking them from him.
The vase is filled with crème roses, white carnations, purple statice and white Asiatic lilies. I just love flowers.
“They’re not for you, Mrs. Adler.”
Feeling a frown grow on my lips, I ask, “Who are they for them?”
“Jana. She’s out of town. I rang Hollis, then remembered seeing him walk over to your unit. Is he here? May I leave the flowers with you?”
“Sure. I’ll set the
m right here and let Hollis know.” I place them on a nearby antique table. The card accompanying the arrangement falls to the floor, and I pick it up as Carmine turns to head back to the lobby.
“I’m heading home. Have a good night,” he says over his shoulder.
“Tell your family I said hello, Carmine.”
I flip the tiny notecard between my pointer and ring finger. That’s when I see my nickname, the term of love Bo has used with me since the day we met, the word ‘babe’ scribbled in heavy ink on the inside card.
Suspicious, I pull the card out of the small envelope.
‘To Jana: You’re the best, Babe.’
WTF. Are Jana and Bo having an affair?
I lie in bed with Orlane. He’s awake too. He can sense my unease.
Earlier I’d told Hollis the flowers arrived and were waiting for Jana. He’d stared at me with a blank look on his face and said he didn’t order her any flowers. Nor did he know whom they were from.
“Why would I send my wife flowers if I know she’s out of town?” he’d defended.
Made sense to me.
After they left, I called Boden. Got voice mail. I then called Jana. Same. Both never called me back. Errr. I’m going out of my mind.
Rolling over, I close my eyes, envisioning the two of them having sex. The hottest man I know, my husband, screwing the prettiest woman I’ve ever met, my neighbor. Maybe I should’ve taken Jana up on her offer to borrow the gun. Then I could turn it on her and get her to confess to fucking my husband.
Think, Piper. Think.
Looking back over the time we’ve been in the Barclay, I try to recall any clues that the two of them could be having an affair. I’ve never seen Bo touch Jana in an inappropriate way. Although, patting women on the butt and constantly gawking over how good they look isn’t really Bo’s thing.
Have I ever seen Jana fawn over Bo? Hmmm. Everyone does. The guy is freaking hot. But never in a way that would make me uncomfortable. Plus, I’m not really sure that Bo is Jana’s type. Just look at Hollis. He’s a bohemian stay-at-home dad who wears brightly colored patterns, is always smoking a cigarette, and has a very island way about him and attitude about life—‘wherever the day takes us.’