“Hello, Dad,” said the person leaning against the door to the penthouse. Len smiled at me, tight and unamused, and waved his hand with his little elfin flourish toward the person at the door.
“Hello, Charlie,” he said. “This is my friend Tina.”
“Hello, Tina,” said Charlie. She was tall, much taller than Len, but she had his air of earthy capability. She also had his strange blue eyes. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and despite her height she looked even more like an elf than he did. Unlike Len, though, she behaved like an actual human being. She reached out, smiled, and shook my hand, as if she believed that we might soon be friends.
“Hello,” I said, smiling back at her. Beside me, Len bristled. “Are you okay, Len?” I asked.
“I’m just surprised. I’m surprised to see you, Charlie, very surprised, and I think you know I don’t particularly like surprises. I’m busy now. I think you can see that I have a guest and we’re very busy.”
“It won’t take long, Dad,” she said, completely ignoring his rudeness. “I have something I need you to look at. Benny, this is my dad, whom I told you about.” She turned back to the doorway, where another person was hidden—a boy, maybe ten years old, in jeans and an old dark-red T-shirt with an insurance company ad on it. His skin was so black you could barely see him in the shadows, and he was so shy you could barely see him in the light. He looked up at Charlie with complete bewilderment and trust.
“Show it to him,” she said.
Benny looked down at something in his hands. And then he dutifully held it up so we could see what it was. It was a plant, a small plant in a small white plastic cup with some dirt. I hadn’t noticed it at first because I was trying so hard to make out the kid, who struck me as being the most nearly invisible person I had ever seen. But Len saw the plant. He took a step forward and reached his hand out. The boy lifted the plant to hand it to him, and I saw Len’s fingers curl and shake for a moment. I swear they went all bony with greed. I think I may have gasped, because he turned to me sharply, as if to tell me to shut up, when in fact I hadn’t said anything. But Charlie wasn’t going to let him grab the thing and scare the kid like that; she stepped forward and folded her arms across her chest like a soldier. Which, I discovered later, she was.
“Let’s go inside,” she said. “There’s not enough light here.”
Inside the greenhouse there was plenty of light. Len pushed into the kitchen, impatient to get a look at the plant, leaving Charlie to hold the door for me and the kid, who stopped in the doorway and gasped, completely and instantly overwhelmed at the sight of all those plants. Charlie glanced back at him, then up and around with the same wonder; she smiled at all those plants like they were old and dear friends.
“I told you,” she said, as if she was hearing the thoughts in his head. Then she took the cup out of the boy’s hands and ushered him into the kitchen, which was still relatively tidy from the cleaning I had given it over a week ago. “Place looks good, Dad,” she noted, letting her eyes brush over me. I don’t know what she thought was going on between us, but she didn’t much care. What she cared about was the kid and the plant in the cup.
“Why don’t you tell me what we have here?” Len prompted her. He was staring at the plant in the cup too.
“Okay. Benny grew this on his window ledge, didn’t you, Ben?” She smiled at the kid, who smiled back shyly; growing this plant on a window ledge was some great achievement, apparently. “And then he looked through all his books, and he couldn’t figure out what it was, so he got on a bus and rode all the way in from Crown Heights to find me in the Botanic Garden and see if I knew what it was. And I wasn’t sure. But I told him I knew someone who would definitely know. So I brought him here, Dad. Do your stuff.” She was sensational, this woman. She kept her hand on the kid’s shoulder and let him know that he was safe and she was taking care of him and his plant, and even though her own father was being so rude he could barely look at her, she didn’t seem to notice.
“Where did he get it?” Len asked, completely focused on the plant now. Charlie made sure there was enough space at one end of the counter so we could get a good look at it from all sides.
“Tell him where you got it, Benny.”
Benny looked at her, not at all sure that would be a good idea.
“He won’t tell anybody, I promise,” she said, and then she laughed. “Trust me. My dad is not going to want anybody anywhere to know about this.”
“So you do know what it is,” Len murmured, half to himself.
“I think I do, but I didn’t think it was possible,” she admitted. “You think that’s what it is?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said, wiping his palms on his gardener’s apron before he finally allowed himself to reach out and touch the plant.
Charlie took the boy’s hand and led him one step aside so Len would have a little room. There was a hanging fern right beside the refrigerator, which she reached up to touch, as if she were saying hello. Len kept staring at the tiny plant in his hands. These people really were their own tribe.
“Where did he find it?” Len asked suddenly. He turned his eyes on Benny and considered him with more interest. “Where did you find it, young man? What’s your name—Benny?”
“Yes,” the kid whispered. He was overwhelmed, and who could blame him? I was overwhelmed, and it wasn’t even my plant.
“Did someone give you the seeds for this or did they bring you a cutting from another plant?”
“It was some seeds,” he said.
“And who gave you the seeds?”
“It was some friends of my mom’s,” he said.
“How many seeds?”
“Little bag. Maybe six or seven.”
“Can I see them? The seeds?”
“That’s the only one that growed.”
“You planted them all.”
“Well, yeah.”
“You should see where he lives,” Charlie said with pride, putting her hand on the kid’s shoulder, like he was her own. “He’s got plants growing everywhere, in every corner of this shitty little apartment. His mother’s hardly ever home, from what I could tell. He’s got two older brothers, and who knows what they’re up to, so he’s almost on his own there. Dad, you can’t believe what he’s gotten to grow in those rooms with no light, no fresh air—he’s a miracle worker.”
“I’m impressed already.” Len nodded, smiling, at the kid. “Now, these seeds. Where were they from? Did they come from Africa?”
“That’s what they said.”
“And why did they give them to you?”
“I don’t know. It was one guy, my mom knows him. He saw I liked plants.”
Len tore his attention away from the plant to look at the kid, who was now looking at the ground, completely overwhelmed with shame. It wasn’t a stretch for anyone in that room to know he was lying.
Charlie crouched down next to him, keeping her arm around him. She looked up at Len. “Some friend of his mother’s took their welfare check. He told Benny he would trade the seeds for the check. Benny got into a lot of trouble for it, even though it wasn’t his fault.”
“And how old were the seeds—did he tell you?” Len asked, not giving a rat’s ass about how much trouble Benny got into for letting this friend of his mom’s con him out of their welfare check.
“He said they were magic,” Benny admitted. “I wanted to see if I could make them grow.”
His eyes filled with tears at the admission of his own gullibility. Len turned back to the plant. He didn’t give a shit about Benny’s gullibility either.
“But he didn’t tell you how old the seeds were or where, exactly, they came from?”
“No sir.”
“And you didn’t save even one? You planted them all? Did you plant them all like this, in separate trays?”
“You mean the cups?”
“Yeah, the cups, you planted each one in a separate cup, yes? Did any of the
others come up at all?”
Benny nodded, still miserable, but regaining his equilibrium now that they were back on the subject of plants and seeds. “Two sprouted but never flourished, they just turned yellow and got some brown spots, then they shriveled up and that was it. The other ones never even sprouted.”
“Did you save the unsprouted seeds?”
I didn’t think this was the least bit likely, and neither did Len. There was a sort of hopeless moment of expectant disappointment, as we waited for the kid to tell us he had just tossed the unsprouted seeds. But really, you never know what’s going to happen, you just never know. Benny reached into his pocket and took out a rolled-up paper towel. “Yeah, sure. I dug ’em up to see how far they gestated.”
Len looked up, startled, and caught Charlie smirking at him. She knew all along that the kid had the other seeds, and she knew that Len would underestimate him.
Len didn’t waste any time. He turned back to the kid and held out his bony, greedy hand. “Good for you, Benny. You saved the seeds to see how far they gestated. That was the smart thing to do. May I see them?” Benny handed him the rolled-up paper towel, and with the meticulous care of a jeweler revealing a trove of uncut diamonds, Len opened the towel to consider the second half of this apparently unheard-of treasure.
“I see, I see,” he said. He reached over, plucked a pair of tweezers out of a pencil tin hidden somewhere in the mess on the phone table, and delicately picked up something that looked like a fossilized raisin. “Wonderful,” Len whispered. He set the raisin back down and turned his attention back to the tiny plant, which looked a little like a cross between a tiny cactus and an orange African violet. “Wonderful,” he said again.
“What is it?” I asked.
It was a mistake; I can see that now. In the extreme excitement surrounding the kid’s extraordinary plant, they had completely forgotten I was even in the room, which was the only reason I had been allowed to stay. Announcing my presence with a completely boneheaded question more or less shattered the spell.
“What are you doing here, Tina?” Len said. He had utterly forgotten why I had come up to the greenhouse with him.
“Well, we were—you were down at my place checking in on the moss, Len,” I reminded him.
“What moss?” asked Charlie.
“She’s just a neighbor I was doing a favor for. We will have to talk about that later, Tina.” Len held up his hand to silence me, then swiftly went over to the desk, turned his back so we couldn’t see what he was doing, and retraced his steps to the door, which he opened. “This I think covers it,” he said, shoving some folded bills into my hand. “Thanks for the help.”
“What’s going on?” I said to Len under my breath. “What’s with the plant?”
“You’re quite welcome,” he said, coldly polite, as if he barely knew me. He took my arm, pushed me gently out the door, and closed it.
That was it, I was not one of them. I just stood there and looked at his closed door for a full minute as I tried to get up the nerve to knock with some excuse that would persuade them to let me back in. But nothing came to me. Grabbing that extra two hundred from Len seemed embarrassing and trashy, just as Lucy always said I was. I couldn’t pretend that Len and I were friends now, that I was someone he might include in the cool secret surrounding that plant. Because you don’t extort your friends, do you?
I was so depressed by my own horrible behavior, I spent the next week contemplating personal improvement. Not much immediately came to mind aside from absolutely everything. Then, one afternoon, when I returned home from a minor shopping spree—a tube of toothpaste—I found myself considering the old boring landing. The floor needed a serious scrubbing, and the plastic plants didn’t just need to be dusted; they needed to be tossed and replaced with something you could actually water. The blinds covering the one dirty window needed to be replaced as well. At which point my rather gloomy mood lifted into something resembling hope. I can do this, I thought. I used to clean houses for a living, out there at the Delaware Water Gap: a bucket of water, some Lysol, new blinds, and thirty bucks’ worth of plants would make all the difference. I could make the landing a better place and then see if that made me a better person. It was a far-fetched idea, but not that far-fetched. A lot of people think cleaning things up is the first step to moral improvement. Why shouldn’t that be true? It was at least something I could accomplish. So I was actually contemplating the possibility of this when I heard a door creak behind me. Not my door, the other one. I looked over and saw that it was open, just a few inches, and someone was watching me.
“Mrs. Westmoreland?” I said. “Hi, I’m Tina Finn, I’m living in 8A.”
The door stayed cracked, it didn’t close, but it didn’t open any farther either. I could see just a little of the entryway; the marble floor was polished within an inch of its life. Farther in, I could see the end of a couch in the living room, with a perfectly folded throw in gold and orange hanging off one side. It didn’t look anything like my crazy apartment, but I stepped forward with determination. “My mother was Olivia, she was married to Bill? Anyway, I, uh, I’m living in the apartment until we can get everything sorted out with the wills. I wanted to introduce myself.” I was talking way too slow and too loud, like I thought maybe she was a retarded deaf person. “Anyway, I was thinking I might clean up our landing, get rid of the plastic plants, get some new blinds, would that be okay with you? You wouldn’t have to do anything. I just think it might make the place look a lot nicer if I took a scrub brush to everything …”
“You got to go.”
“What?” I asked, moving closer. Mrs. Westmoreland had finally answered, but her voice was so soft I could barely hear her. I leaned in to listen.
“You’ve got to get out of here. The police are here,” she whispered. “The police?” I said. Her door shut quickly, just as the one behind me opened. I turned, not knowing quite what to expect, but I was beginning to get a clue. A uniformed officer stood in my doorway. He was young and buff and kind of mean-looking. I’d seen his type before.
“You Tina Finn?” he asked.
“Who’s asking?” I gave him back.
“This your stuff in here?” He held up my backpack and a pair of underwear.
“Is that my ‘stuff’? You mean is that my underwear? Yeah, that’s my underwear. You got a reason for breaking into my apartment and going through my underwear, Officer?” Look, I knew that you’re supposed to shut up and just do what you’re told when they come at you like that; believe me, I had been warned. But sadly, I always seemed to forget.
“Could you come in here, please?”
“Yeah, you bet, whatever you say, Officer. I’m sure your reasons for pawing through my underwear are excellent.” The sarcastic tone is also not a good idea when talking to police officers. What can I say? I walked to the doorway and looked at him with what can only be called disgraceful disregard, considering that we both knew what was coming.
“You’re going to have to step aside,” I said. “You’re so big and strong and scary, I just can’t squeeze by you.”
“You think you’re helping yourself here, Miss Finn?” the guy asked.
“Would that even be possible, Officer?” I asked. Behind him were two more uniforms waiting for me.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“Then could you step back, please?” He did, and I stepped into the apartment.
“You’re under arrest,” he said.
“I’m stunned to hear it,” I replied.
11
WHEN OFFICER MACDOWELL READ THE CHARGES, IT TURNED OUT that an injunction had in fact been issued by some court and had been subsequently received by one Ira Grossman, Esquire, who was acting on behalf of Alison and Daniel Lindemann, Lucille Finn, and Christina Finn of a lot of different addresses. The injunction stated in no uncertain terms that we were not permitted to trespass on the premises of cooperative apartment number 8A in the Edgewood Building, address 819 C
entral Park West. Service having been accepted on my behalf by Ira Grossman, the legal system assumed that I had been duly informed that further trespass upon the premises would be treated as an unlawful act and I would be persecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
So that’s what happened. The arresting officer informed me that I had violated the injunction and that he was hauling me down to the precinct. So I smirked and said “yes, sir,” like I thought he was a complete idiot, so he asked me if I had a problem and I said, no, Officer, you’re so big and strong and mean I’m just terrified is all, which as usual was not the right thing to say. One of the other officers said, “Phil …” like a warning, because you could see Officer MacMean go seriously red around the corners of his face, like he had a spectacularly shitty temper, which anybody could see just by looking at him. He paused for a few beats, said he was fine, grabbed me by the arm, and shoved me through the doorway with significantly more force than necessary, considering that he weighed probably 240 pounds and I come in under 115. He didn’t insist on handcuffs because he couldn’t—I wasn’t technically resisting arrest; I was just tossing around attitude—but he did make sure he hurt my arm.
I didn’t know which precinct they took me to, but since it was the Upper West Side, it was actually not too bad as precincts go. It was alarmingly ugly, with fluorescent lights, linoleum floors, and weird green plasterboard walls, and it had venetian blinds on the inside office windows, which made the place look like a third-rate medical clinic. But trust me, the fact that there wasn’t a layer of grime on every conceivable surface put it in a whole different league from the other precincts where I’d landed after being arrested. The mean cop was still being a little too rough, so one of the other two cops kind of stepped between us in a very casual way, like all he meant to do was show me where I needed to go to get processed. He didn’t give me any eye contact, just leaned over and said, “You’re going to have to leave your valuables at the window,” but then he stayed where he was while he traded greetings with the guy at the front desk, and that effectively stopped MacMean from shoving me around anymore. I waited for the lady cop to show up, because they always pass you off to a female officer, who takes your valuables, puts them in an envelope, gives them to the guy behind the window, and then leads you to the back for your interview. Then, if they decide to hold you, someone comes and takes you off to the holding tank for girls. In my experience, the procedure is pretty straightforward and consistent, precinct to precinct.
Twelve Rooms with a View Page 14