“He’s feeling pretty terrible,” Julie said. “You know, he really did love you. No, I take that back. He still loves you.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Mia said, and looked at the clock. “But I really can’t go into all that now. I’ve got to get ready.” She yanked up a pair of black patterned tights. She inspected them carefully for runs. There weren’t any—yet.
“Why don’t you let me come over?” Julie said. “I’ll bring breakfast.” Mia knew that Julie’s idea of breakfast was a box of Krispy Kremes. Suddenly, she craved one of the sticky, calorie-laden confections. And she wanted Julie to bring her one. Or several.
JULIE HADN’T LIED about her tan; it may have spelled a future studded with basal cell carcinomas, but Jesus, did she look terrific. They hugged tightly, stood back, and looked at each other, and then hugged again.
“Here,” said Julie, handing her the box of doughnuts. “All the trans fat, sugar, and cholesterol you need for the week.”
“There’s so much to say I don’t even know where to begin.” Mia plucked a doughnut from the box. But before she could take a bite, she saw that Julie’s attention had been diverted by something out the window. “What?” she asked. “What are you staring at?”
“There’s a TV crew in front of the building,” said Julie. “Let me see.” Mia joined Julie at the window. There was a van parked out front; it had the emblem of a local news station embla-zoned across the side, and the back doors were wide open. She watched as a couple of guys emerged, hauling cameras and other equipment out onto the sidewalk. What was going on? Mia hurriedly ate her doughnut and opened the window. She saw a young woman with a massive amount of shiny red hair and an alarmingly green suit—she looked kind of like a leprechaun, only prettier—standing patiently in front of the building while her face was anointed with a long wandlike makeup brush.
The phone rang again. Eden—at last! “Eden!” said Mia, so happy to hear her voice. “Where are you?”
“In Queens, staying with some friends of Daddy’s girlfriend. We went to a Korean restaurant last night.”
“You did? Was it fun?” She refused to let herself ask, Did you eat? Are you eating now? Please don’t stop eating. There would be time for all that later, when she actually saw Eden, wrapped her tightly in her arms.
“Yeah, except they brought over a pile of raw meat and cooked it on this big grill right at the table; my finger got burnt. Also, the smell of the meat was so gross. It made me sick.”
“Mia, there’s another TV van outside,” said Julie, who was still at the window. “This one’s from ABC.”
“Eden, why are you in New York now? Did Daddy bring you here to see me?” She was trying to have this conversation and pay attention to Julie at the same time.
“He says that something important is happening with your court thing today, and that we have to be there to see how it turns out.”
“So you’re on your way to Brooklyn?”
“We’re leaving in a few minutes. Daddy said I could call you to let you know.”
“I can’t wait to see you,” Mia said. The doughnut, while delicious going down, had been a big mistake; it was now lodged, a hot, immo-bile mass, in her stomach.
“And I can’t wait to see you. But I don’t want you to go to jail again, okay?”
“Okay, baby. No jail for me.”
“Oh, and Mom? Grandma’s coming, too.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“No. She’s with Uncle Stuart. He called Daddy.”
“Mia, I really think you should take a look at this,” said Julie. The remaining doughnuts were ignored while Julie surveyed the drama unfolding in the street below. “It’s a media circus out there.”
“Eden, honey, I’ve got to go now,” said Mia. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Love you, Mommy,” said Eden. “Love you, too.” But Eden was already gone.
Mia returned to the window. There were two vans, more camera and sound equipment, and another pert young thing—this one in an orange pantsuit—submitting to a touch-up. Mia was ready to pull her head back inside when she spied Cox on the sidewalk, talking to the newscaster in green. Mia saw him shake his head and try to pass her. Green Girl stepped in front of him, and he started moving in another direction. But she placed herself in his path again; from up above, it looked like they were doing a dance.
Although the intercom had not yet been fixed, Hector, Luisa’s dad, had gone ahead and installed a lock on the front door. Now Mia’s guests had to yell up and wait for her to toss down the small Ziploc bag in which she kept the key. She was just about to toss it to Cox now, but something told her to wait. She saw him pull out his phone, and, a second later, her own phone was ringing.
“I don’t want to alarm you or anything,” Cox said. “But there are a couple of camera crews down here that want to talk to you. And there’s a guy from the Daily News, too.”
“Talk to me?”
“About the cash machine. Someone seems to have tipped them off that there might be something very unusual about to take place.”
“Chris, that’s impossible.”
“Are you looking out the window?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then you’ll know it’s not only possible, it’s happening. Now.”
“So what should I do?”
“Come on down. It’s showtime, remember?” Cox clicked off, and Mia walked slowly away from the window.
“You okay?” Julie asked. “I don’t know,” said Mia. “All those TV people down there? They’re waiting to talk to me.”
“Who were you talking to just now? One of them?”
“No, that was my lawyer. He’s outside.”
Julie peered out the window again. “The bald one in the fancy coat?”
“That’s him.”
“How are you paying for him, anyway?”
“Stuart.”
“Mia, I think I see Stuart out there. Talking to the lawyer. Did he say he’d be coming?”
“Let me see.”
Stuart was standing next to Cox, intently listening to whatever he had to say. Then she saw Lloyd, towering over everyone, red scarf fluttering in the wind. And to top it off, he was wearing a beret. A beret! Who did he think he was—François Truff aut? Next to him, hopping lightly from foot to foot, was Eden. She was looking straight up at the window, and when she saw Mia, she started waving frantically.
“There’s Eden,” Mia said to Julie. “I’ve got to go.”
IT WAS CROWDED outside the building, and in Mia’s effort to move toward Eden, she and Julie were separated. But at that moment, the only thing that mattered was her daughter. She called to her, and Eden came charging in her direction, not stopping until she was in Mia’s arms.
“Eden,” Mia crooned. “I missed you so much.” Was she thinner or was that Mia’s worry-fueled imagination? Under the coat, it was hard to tell. She looked up and saw Lloyd, hovering on the periphery of their embrace. He just stood there, looking big, and for once he didn’t say a thing.
“That’s her,” said a guy with a camera. “She’s the one.”
“Ms. Saul, over here, over here,” called someone else. “Is it true that there’s a cash machine just handing out money?” asked still another voice. “Or is this just some kind of publicity hoax?” Several of the TV guys started moving in on her; Mia stepped back. Their proximity was mildly alarming, and she was just about to say so when Cox came barreling up.
“Coming through,” he said in a loud voice. “She’s not saying anything right now. You’ll just have to wait.” Then to Mia, he added, “These are the detectives from the D.A.’s office.” Two men nodded. The taller one, who was black, said, “I’m Smyth, from the Seventy-eighth Precinct. And this is Blauner.” They both wore dun-colored raincoats and drab scarves; maybe it was some kind of detective uniform.
“What’s going on?” asked Smyth. “I’m not sure,” said Mia. She had her arm around Eden’s shoulders and scanned the cr
owd for Julie. After a minute, she saw her, standing next to Fred. Why was he here? And look at that—Bev was with him. Bev caught Mia’s eye and waved.
“Ms. Saul, what did you think when you saw a ten-thousand-dollar bill? Did you know right away it was real?”
“Did you try to sell it through legitimate sources at first?”
“What about Solly Phelps? Why wouldn’t he buy it? Did he suspect it was a fake?”
Solly Phelps! How did he know anything about her visit to Solly Phelps?
“I told you—no questions,” Cox snapped. He was small, all right, but he could snarl with the best of them.
“I think we’re ready,” said Smyth. He looked at his watch. “We’ve got other dog-and-pony shows to see this morning.”
Mia finally let go of Eden as they began to make their way up Garfield Place, toward the bank on Fifth Avenue. It was a cold, bright day with a strong wind blowing; the red-and-yellow McDonald’s wrappers whirling in the breeze had an almost festive quality.
THE TV VANS remained parked where they were, but several crew members walked along with them. The reporters were a noisy bunch, tossing questions in the air like confetti. The group advancing on the bank seemed to swell by the minute.
“Mom, there are so many people here!” said Eden. “I know.”
“Look, there’s Luisa’s mom. And Mr. Ortiz. And look over there!” She pointed, though Mia had told her a thousand times that pointing was rude. “There’s Grandma!”
Mia turned to see her mother, wearing a colorful cape—a cape!— made out of some patchwork material, and walking beside Stuart. Behind them was Mr. Ortiz, holding tightly on to Inez’s arm. He moved slowly, with great deliberation. There were a lot of people. Who had told them to come? What did they want? She scanned the crowd again and realized that she knew more than a few of the faces in it. Caitlin and Suzy. Wasn’t that the driver from the car service? And wasn’t that a guy she’d given money to once, when he was standing outside of the bank? This couldn’t all be a coincidence. It just couldn’t.
“Mom!” she called out, but there was too much noise, and Betty didn’t hear.
“Hey, College Girl,” called a familiar voice. “College Girl, over here.” Mia whipped around, and there was Patrick, long blond hair spilling out over the top of his parka. A gust of wind lifted a lock of it, momentarily obscuring his expression. When the hair fell back into place, she could read his mile-wide smile, even from here. Was she smiling like that, too? She must be. Patrick. This crowd was all Patrick’s doing; she was certain of it. But how? “A magician never reveals his secrets,” he had said. Well, he certainly didn’t.
“Patrick,” she called back, but she was blocked by the throng and couldn’t move any closer.
“Who’s that?” Eden wanted to know. “That? That’s just a friend,” said Mia, trying to keep him within view as she walked.
“I’ve called the bank to let them know we would be coming,” said Smyth, more to Cox than to Mia. “So you can expect a decent amount of security. Though I don’t think they’re going to be expecting this.” He used his hand to indicate the group of people walking up the hill.
“No one was,” said Cox. “They’ll have to deal.”
The group began to resemble a parade. Patrick was in his element working the crowd—he might as well have been campaigning for mayor—shaking hands, chatting up the women, nodding emphatically. She almost expected him to start handing out balloons, playing the kazoo, kissing babies. But he also kept her in his line of sight; every so often, she could see him looking over at her.
Mia, however, was too jittery to be enjoying any of this, strange and antic though it may have been. She was the one who had to worry about what would happen when they actually reached the bank. For most everyone else, it was just entertainment.
Cox reached the bank’s doorway first. He looked at the detective and nodded.
“Everyone stand outside,” said Smyth. One of the camera guys tried to slip by while his back was turned to the door. “Hey, that means you, too. What part of outside don’t you understand?” The camera guy stepped back into the crowd.
“Okay, Mia,” said Cox. “Let’s go in.”
Mia took a last look at the group assembled outside. She saw Patrick and Lloyd right up front. Reluctantly, she surrendered Eden’s hand and urged her to go stand with her father. Eden gave Patrick a curious look before taking Lloyd’s hand. Just behind them stood her mother, her brother, and, lo and behold, Gail. Julie. Fred. Bev. People she had worked with at various publishing houses. Mr. Ortiz and Inez. Solly Phelps, in a fedora. Reporters and photographers.
She turned and walked through the doors. There was the machine, just where it had always been. The velvet rope was gone; she saw no impediment now. Blauner stood alongside her while Smyth went into the bank. He brought over two uniformed security guards, along with a nervous-looking guy in an ill-fitting suit who must have been the manager.
“All right, Ms. Saul,” said Blauner. “You can go ahead now.”
Mia groped under her coat for the locket. She felt it at the hollow of her throat, right where it belonged. She took a step toward the machine. But before she could do anything, she heard a voice—Patrick’s voice—rising up and over the assembled crowd.
“There she goes, folks. Just watch and see what she can do. She’s amazing—a real live magician, only the magic’s not make-believe, it’s in her. I know, ‘cause I’ve seen it. Watch and believe,” he said. “You won’t be disappointed.”
Mia turned sharply around. Two of the cameramen had their lenses trained on Patrick; the redhead in green began talking rapidly into a cell phone.
“That guy.” Cox rolled his eyes. “That’s the nut who was in the courtroom yesterday.”
“Go ahead, College Girl,” Patrick called out, his gaze locking with Mia’s. “Don’t be afraid.”
“What’s going on?” asked the bank manager. He was shrinking inside the voluminous jacket. “Who is that man? Can you get him to shut up?”
“He’s not doing anything wrong,” said Mia. “He’s just talking. He’s allowed to talk, isn’t he?” She felt sorry for the bank manager; the worry pulled his features, as if by magnetic force, to the center of his face, leaving the periphery bare and vulnerable.
“I don’t want this getting out of hand,” Blauner said. “There are a lot of people out there. We don’t want a situation.”
“You know him,” Cox said to Mia. “Can’t you get him to be quiet?”
“I’ll try,” Mia said, going to the door. “Patrick,” she called out. “Pat-rick, these guys want you to chill, okay? They don’t want any trouble.”
“There won’t be any trouble, College Girl. I’ll make sure of that. I just want everyone to know who you are, what you’ve done.”
“Let’s just get on with it,” said Smyth, who walked over to where they were standing. “The bank’s got their security in place, and I’ve already called for some backup. They should be pulling up now.” The door closed again; the group outside seemed eager, not hostile or violent.
“All right,” said Mia, quietly. “All right.” She walked resolutely up to the machine, inserted her card, and pressed the familiar commands. She had not a clue about what would happen. One hundred dollars, that was all she had ever asked for. Everything else had been a windfall— unearned, unexpected. For an awful moment, the machine was still. Was it out of order again? Or angry, in some inexplicable way, that she had drawn this crowd and was about to expose its secrets?
Then the screen changed color, the blue warming to periwinkle, violet, and, finally, a pale, celestial pink. The whirring started, followed by the strains, once again, of a harp. Words, this time in black, appeared on the screen:
You used it well.
Mia felt the hum and throb of the crowd behind her, but she didn’t dare turn away. The words faded, leaving a rectangle as pink and glowing as the dawn. And then came the bills, thousands this time, all so crisp and fres
h and new.
“Did you do it, College Girl? Did you?” Patrick somehow managed to yank open the door, outmaneuvering the policemen who stood in front of it.
“Yes!” she cried, spinning around and holding up the bills to show him. “Look, just look—” A sudden gust of wind blasted through the open door, and the bills were snatched from Mia’s hand. They swirled around the bank’s lobby, and a few of them flew out and into the street.
“Money!” cried someone in the crowd. “They’re giving away free money!” Everyone surged forward, drawn by the bills.
“I’ve got a thousand!”
“Me, too!”
“I’ve got two—no, three!”
The police started moving forward, but they were not fast enough. The door was wide open now, and people flooded in: Patrick, Stuart, Gail, Betty, Lloyd. Fred hesitated, but when Bev charged ahead, he followed. Eden wriggled through the press of bodies.
“Let me see!” she crowed. “I want to see, too!”
The machine kept churning out bills—thousand after thousand— that were caught up by the billowing wind, blown and scattered to the amazed, delighted crowd. The police and the security officers vainly tried to catch them, but there were too many.
“Where are they coming from?” asked someone. “Who cares?” was the reply. “Just make sure you get some!”
“You did it, College Girl!” Patrick laughed, grabbing her in his arms. “You fucking did it!” Mia looked at him, and at the two bills still clutched in her own hands. Then suddenly, she tossed her arms up and let the wind take the bills, blowing them around with all the others.
Cameras started rolling, and the news dolls began talking into their microphones. “We’re live here in Brooklyn today to witness a most amazing occurrence . . .” began the one in orange.
“Coming to you live from Park Slope . . .” said the one in green. “How can this be happening?” moaned the bank manager; he looked a little green, too, as if he might be sick. “What does it mean?”
Breaking the Bank Page 34