by Lesley Crewe
“That’s ridiculous. I’ve stolen nothing. Get away from me.”
The man put his hand on Gemma’s arm. Linda took her bag and swung it at him. “Leave her alone.”
Suddenly they were all involved as they swarmed around the man demanding an explanation. A whistle got their attention. Two more security guards gestured for their co-worker. “Hurry up…not that fat one, the one running down the street.”
“What did he say?” Gemma shouted.
“Sorry, my mistake.” The guard ran up the street after his colleagues. “He called me fat.”
Her friends were equally indignant.
“I could sue him for slander. Santa Maria, what is it with me and stores? I never want to go in another one for the rest of my life. People call me gigantic and now I’m fat. Am I?”
They reassured her she wasn’t.
“I’ve had five kids, for pity’s sake. I can’t help it if I gained a lot of weight with each and every one of them. They were big babies. Like that’s my fault?”
Gemma continued her tirade down the street while her friends made sympathetic noises. Then she stopped. “I’m starting to hate this city, and on top of that, I’m getting a migraine.”
“Gemma, let’s you and I go back to the hotel and you can have a lie down,” Augusta said, “and Linda and Bette can go get Bette’s passport sorted. We can meet back in the room.”
“All right.” Linda looked at her watch. “We’ll try not to be too long. I’ve got to figure out what to do about this money situation. Bloody Stuart.”
“Here, give me your bag,” Augusta said. Linda handed it over and they parted company on the corner of 50th Street and 5th Avenue.
Bette suggested she and Linda grab a coffee and a prune danish before they went to the consulate; Linda looked as if she needed some fortifying. So they sat in a crowded café and took a small table near the window. Linda sat on the chair and Bette scooted around to sit on the padded bench that ran down the length of one wall. She took out her cellphone. “I should call Ma and see if she’s in a better state of mind.”
Linda dismissed her with her hand. “Don’t bother. You’ll never make yourself heard in this place.”
Bette nodded. “You’re right. I’ll wait until we get back to the hotel, but can you believe that stunt? Telling me she’d killed an intruder. The woman is insane. When I get that age, do me a favour and shoot me.”
“I will.”
Bette put the cellphone down beside her on top of her jacket, since she didn’t have a purse.
“Bette, what am I going to do about this damn credit card? I was planning on using it all week. I have money in my chequing account but not enough to finance this entire trip the way I wanted to. This was supposed to be a great adventure, an extravagant treat courtesy of my rotten husband but so far it’s been nothing but a disaster.”
Bette reached over and covered Linda’s hand with her own. “Don’t worry. So what if we don’t spend quite so much on ourselves? You know us; a bottle of wine and some cheese and crackers make us happy. We’ll make our own fun. We always have.”
Linda smiled. “I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”
At that moment, the two ladies sitting beside them left and were very quickly replaced with what looked like three punk rockers, one guy and two girls, all of them sporting numerous tattoos and piercings. Their hair was greasy and the girls wore black lipstick and nail polish. Linda and Bette signalled each other with eyebrow arches and quick nods of the head, code for “get a load of this bunch.” It was entertaining to watch them covertly. They spoke frantically into their cellphone, but they kept their hands over their mouths, so Bette and Linda couldn’t quite make out what they were saying—which was just as well, since anything these three had to say probably wouldn’t be worth listening to.
Bette and Linda quickly finished their coffee and Danish and were about to leave when the guy spilled his drink, not only all over himself, but also the table and Bette’s clothes. Everyone jumped, and general chaos reigned for a moment or two.
“Geez, man, watch it,” he said to Bette.
“Excuse me? You spilled the drink.”
“Oh. Sorry, man.”
He grabbed a few napkins and wiped Bette’s chest. She slapped his arm away. “I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”
“Hey, chill. You got the wrong vibe.”
One of the girls spoke up. “Whatcha expect? She’s as old as a freakin’ goat.”
Bette grabbed her coat and her belongings. “Yeah? Well, at least I don’t smell like one.”
They left in a hurry, and when they got out on the street, the two friends looked at each other.
“Can anything else go wrong?” Linda said.
Bette threw her hands in the air. “I finally get felt up, but it’s by a kid who looks like Marilyn Manson.”
Linda took Bette by the arm. “You nut. Let’s go.”
Gemma and Augusta walked back to the hotel at a leisurely pace.
“I don’t think I’m a big-city girl.” Gemma shifted her purse from one hand to the other.
“We live in Montreal. That’s a city.”
“Yeah, but New York is New York. I think I’d get swallowed up, like no one would know I was ever here.”
Augusta smiled. “I love where I live. Tom bought that house for us.”
Gemma glanced at her. “Would you ever consider marrying again?”
“When the girls leave home, maybe.”
“Well, well. I never thought you’d say that.”
“I get very lonely, Gemma. It’s hard. I always felt safest in Tom’s arms. I’d like to feel that again. You’re lucky to have Angelo, even if he is thoughtless at times. He loves you, and it must be lovely to lie next to that big man every night.”
“You know, Gussie, I thought I wanted to come here. I thought I was missing something in my life. But I don’t think so. I’d have been just as happy to sit in Linda’s family room and drink wine with you guys. I really can’t wait to get home.”
Augusta laughed. “Me neither, but it’ll be our little secret. I don’t want Linda to think we don’t appreciate everything she’s trying to do for us. Of course, maybe we’d think differently about this trip if we were actually having a good time instead of living a never-ending soap opera.”
They were in perfect agreement as they walked along, but they stopped dead in their tracks when a young girl suddenly stood in front of them.
“You’re Bette Weinberg’s friends, aren’t you?”
Gemma and Augusta stared at her.
“It’s the young girl from the airport,” Gemma said. “How wonderful. Do you have Bette’s purse? We have your bag with your baby’s teddy bear in it. We kept it with us in case you got in touch.”
“Is that your little one in your sweater?” Augusta asked. “Where’s your stroller, honey? You look exhausted.”
The girl put her hands out as if to stop the onslaught of questions. “Please, we don’t have much time. You and your friends are in grave danger.”
Gemma and Augusta looked at each other and then back at the girl. “Is this a joke?” Gemma asked. “What’s your name?”
“It’s Gracie. Listen to me. When Bette took my bag by mistake, she took something that I smuggled over the border for…for…some people.”
The friends gasped.
“I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true. I was desperate and I did it. But now they’re going to kill your friend if she doesn’t give them the bag. I think they’re going to kill all of us. They kept me prisoner, but Keaton and I escaped. I came to warn you.”
They looked at the small, slender girl with the pale and frightened face. She was shivering. “There’s five million dollars worth of diamonds in that bear.”
Gemma’s mouth dropped open. “I don’t believe it.”
“Can you call your friend? I need to warn her.”
Augusta reached out and put her arm around Gracie�
�s shoulder. “Of course. Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll keep you and your baby safe. I’ll call Bette right now.”
Gracie looked like she wanted to cry.
At that moment, a very large and scary-looking man ran up to them as a black car squealed to a stop by the sidewalk. Dumber grabbed Gracie’s arm. “Everyone get in the car. Do it now, or the girl gets it.” He held a knife against her side.
“Don’t hurt her,” both women said. They had no choice. They got in the car. Then Dumber pushed Gracie in and jumped in the front seat, as Dumb put his foot to the floor. The car took off like a shot.
CHAPTER EIGHT
After Ida got off the phone with 911, she called her eldest son, Mordecai, who in turn called David, who called Simon, who called Lenny, who called Moshe. Five sons and their families arrived at the scene shortly after the police got there.
There was a stampede up the stairs once the body was removed and the police had finished their interrogation of the Weinbergs. The brothers were in a panic when they saw the state of their parents. Izzy’s nose was twice its normal size, and Ida’s black eye was turning a lovely shade of mauve.
Mordecai slapped himself on his cheeks. “My God, he tortured Papa. Look at the burns. Did he try and drown you, as well? Oh, this is too much.”
Ida and Izzy looked at each other and stayed quiet. They hadn’t had this much attention in years. Might as well take advantage of it.
Ida howled. “The pain! The pain I tell you. You have no idea.”
Her daughters-in-law rushed about. They made food, swept the kitchen, and one of them even did a wash while another cleaned the bathtub. There were so many people in the house that no one could hear themself think.
Uncle Sid, Izzy’s older brother, arrived on his son’s arm wailing and gnashing his false teeth. “Oy, thank God Mama and Papa aren’t alive to see this terrible day. It would have killed them dead. Dead, I tell you!”
He grabbed Izzy. “Was it awful?”
Ida butted in. “He was comatose for most of it. Ya wanna know what happened, ask me.”
Izzy lit a cigarette. “I wasn’t comatose when I was trying to get you away from that maniac.”
“Well, you were out like a light for the rest of it.”
“Not voluntarily.”
“Whatever.”
“And how did you kill the man?” Uncle Sid asked Ida.
“She browbeat him to death,” Izzy answered.
Ida scowled. “Why didn’t I leave that damn duct tape on your mouth?”
“You should have. I have no lips now, thanks to you.”
Ida looked at her sons. “Did you ever hear anyone complain more than him?”
“So what did the police say?” Uncle Sid asked.
“They asked me why someone would be after Bette, but I told them I had no idea, unless she’s up to something in that precious car of hers. You can never get a thing out of her.”
“Have you tried to call Bette and warn her about this?” Uncle Sid asked.
Everyone looked at each other.
“Did we?” Izzy yelped. “Did we?”
Ida couldn’t tell him that Bette had hung up on her. It was too embarrassing.
“For the love of God, in all this confusion, has no one thought to let Bette know what’s going on?”
The family looked at one another.
“Get her on the phone!”
Mordecai reached for the phone and dialled Bette’s cellphone. A man answered and said he had the wrong number. Thinking he’d misdialled, Mordecai tried again. The same guy answered.
“I’m looking for Bette Weinberg. Is she there, please?”
“I told you before. I don’t know any Bette, so screw off.”
“Who is this?”
The line went dead. Mordecai looked at his father.
“What’s wrong?”
“A man answered.”
“Oh my God, she’s eloped,” Ida said.
“Eloped?” Izzy said. “Who goes on their honeymoon with three girlfriends?”
Ida drove back and forth over the rug. “How do we know she went with three girlfriends? Maybe this whole thing has been a ruse to cover up her tracks.”
Izzy dismissed her. “That slap to the head affected your brain.”
“Who’s the guy, then?”
“How the hell should I know?”
Mordecai pleaded with his parents. “Enough with the bickering, you two. I know this is difficult, but you need to put everything aside and concentrate on Bette.”
Ida drove over to the living room window and looked out. Her shoulders slumped. “Where are you, Bette?”
Bette and Linda were on their way back to the hotel from the Canadian consulate on 6th Avenue. They’d been very helpful and assisted Bette with all the necessary paperwork. It was a relief to have something go smoothly for a change.
And then Bette’s phone rang. “I bet this is Ida again. Wonder what she’ll make up this time?” She answered it. “Hello?”
“The cock crows at midnight.”
“Hello?”
“I said, the cock crows at midnight.”
“Ma? Is this you? Just what the devil do you think you’re doing?
I’ve had it up to here with this cloak-and-dagger stuff.”
“Who is this?”
“Who’s this? You called me, remember?”
They hung up.
“Was that your mother?”
“No, some other wing nut.”
They continued their journey. “I hope Gemma feels better,” Linda said. “Maybe we can actually do something this afternoon.”
“Let’s hope so.”
The phone rang again. “Hello?”
“The cock…”
Bette spoke louder then she intended. “The cock? You again?”
A few people on the street turned their heads and looked at her. “Listen here, you’ve got the wrong number. I’m not interested in your cock or anyone else’s, so give me a break and stop phoning this number.” She clicked the phone off and put it in her pocket. She rolled her eyes. “Don’t even ask.”
Stuart knocked tentatively on the bathroom door. “Ryan. Come out of there, please. I think I know what might have happened.”
She yelled from inside. “You think? I know. I’m being taken for a mug.”
“Stop acting like a child and let’s talk.”
The door swung open. Ryan stood there in righteous indignation. “Why do you always say that? Believe it or not, I’m allowed to be upset. I do own my own feelings. Age has nothing to do with it.”
“Sorry, you’re right. Come and sit down.”
She flounced by him and threw herself in a chair. “So? What’s your explanation? I can’t wait to hear it.”
“I think Linda’s behind it.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“She’s here at the hotel.”
“What?”
“I know. I think she’s following me. I think she sent that girl just to upset you.” Stuart crossed over to the window and looked out. “I can’t believe she’d do something like that, but maybe I drove her to it.”
“You didn’t drive her anywhere. People are allowed to fall in love.”
“Not when they’re married.”
“Rubbish. No one gets married anymore. It’s an ancient ritual that means nothing. The only reason I want to get married is to have a wedding.”
Stuart couldn’t get his head around that, so he kept his mouth shut.
Ryan crossed her arms. “Who told you she was in the hotel?”
“Wes.”
“That’s who was on the phone? What did he want?”
“To tell me the house was broken into.”
Ryan stood bolt upright. “The house was broken into? Oh God, I hope they didn’t take my stereo system.”
“Not our house, my old house. Linda’s house.”
Stuart flinched. “It’s not okay.”
“You know what I mean.”
/> “Wes doesn’t want her to know. He thinks she’s here on vacation, but I think she’s stalking us.”
Ryan ran up to him. “Maybe she wants to kill me. You read it all the time in the Gazette.”
“I really don’t think so.”
“Maybe she wants to kill you. That’s the more likely scenario.”
Stuart shook his head as if to clear it and paced the room. “You’re overreacting. But I don’t like the thought of her following us. I think it would be best all around if we changed hotels.”
“Stupid bitch, screwing everything up like this.”
Stuart went over to the closet and took out his suitcase. “Let’s go. Then maybe we can have a nice night out. I’ll feel better if she doesn’t know where we are.”
Ryan helped him pack.
Bette and Linda got on the elevator and pushed the button for the seventh floor. The door closed. When it opened again, Stuart and Ryan were standing there waiting to get on. The four of them reeled away from each other in shock.
“Oh, God,” Linda cried.
“Don’t kill us,” Ryan shouted.
Linda stepped out of the elevator, Bette behind her. “Kill you? Are you insane? I wouldn’t waste my breath on you, you little home–wrecker. What’s she talking about, Stuart?”
“Why are you here, Linda? Why are you following us?” Stuart tossed his head towards Bette. “And why did you bring your posse with you?”
Linda put her shoulders back. “Do you honestly think I’m pathetic enough to run around and spy on you two? I can’t imagine anything more boring.”
Ryan pointed a finger at Linda. “That little trick of yours didn’t work, lady.”
“What trick?”
“Sending a girl with a baby to my door, asking for Mrs. Keaton. You think I fell for that? What a pathetic bitch you are, pulling a stunt like that. Stuart is well rid of you.”
Linda made a face. “I don’t know what kind of drugs you’re on, missy, but I suggest you take a few more and hopefully overdose on them.”
Ryan clutched Stuart’s arm. “Did you hear that? She does want to kill me.”
Stuart stepped closer to Linda. “You don’t have to like me anymore, but for pity’s sake, look at what you’re doing. If you want to keep your dignity, you’ll stop with these little charades and go home.”