by Joy Copeland
Feeling guilty that she’d made her decision too quickly, Zoie actually checked with the apartment’s management. There were certainly dogs in the building. She’d seen several tenants leaving the premises with dogs in tow. Deep down she hoped that the apartment management would bear the “bad guy” mantle by nixing her request. When she called the Madison House’s business office, the young man who answered the phone was very accommodating. “Sure, Ms. Taylor, you can have a dog. We do have a building pet quota. Right now there are two slots open for dogs—one for seventy-five pounds or less and one for twenty-five pounds or less.” The apartment management seemed to welcome dogs according to the projected pounds of poop. “It’s on a first-come basis,” the young man said.
“Oh,” Zoie answered, disappointed. She’d hoped that a simple no would end the matter.
“Now you mentioned a lab. For large dogs there’s a nonrefundable $500 deposit and a monthly rent surcharge of $40.”
“Forty dollars! You’re kidding!” Zoie replied, obliged to be incensed about the additional cost, in case the cost became the issue she would use with Nikki.
“You did say a lab. A lab’s a big dog.”
“But right now it’s a puppy.”
“Oh! Puppies are the worse. They can be very destructive, and they do grow up. And we’ll have to do a flea treatment when you vacate. That would be another $200.”
There had been a long silence during which Zoie thought not about what to say to the guy on the phone but about what to say to Nikki. She’d gambled on a tidy no and lost.
“Do you want me to add a pet addendum to your lease?”
“No,” Zoie told the clerk. “I’m still considering it.”
“Well, I can’t promise that the slots will be there tomorrow.”
“I understand,” she answered, now counting on the time lapse to solve her problem. Somehow she would have to break the bad news to Nikki.
Zoie’s anger toward Celeste smoldered like the last log in a fireplace. That Celeste had told Nikki she could have that “damn puppy” without first checking with Zoie sat like a puppy poop in a punch bowl. She’d been so rattled by news of Elliot’s reappearance that she neglected to confront Celeste about the dog.
Zoie had sought her grandmother’s counsel. “Grandma, what am I supposed to do? She is promising Nikki things I can’t deliver on.”
“Let it go, honey,” her grandmother advised. “In the scheme of things, that woman’s misjudgment is just a nit. You’re acting as if she were some kind of demon. A little misguided maybe, but certainly no demon. You wouldn’t let a demon take Nikki, would you? Zo, you can’t let the small stuff ruffle you so. If you get all unpinned about the small stuff, what will you ever do when the big stuff comes around?”
As always her grandmother had a point.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience,” came the pilot’s voice over the loudspeaker. “They’ve assigned us a gate. Note that the seat-belt light is still on. We’re headed to gate B-12.”
Chapter 20
Everybody Changes
In a perfectly timed rendezvous, Zoie exited the terminal as Tina pulled up in a nondescript white rental car. Tina had flown down earlier, checked into her efficiency apartment, and returned to the airport to pick up Zoie. They hugged, and then Zoie stuffed her carry-on bag into the car’s back seat.
Fort Lauderdale, like DC, was hot and humid, but all similarities between the cities ended there. Unlike the capital city, traffic on the flat stretch of Florida highway was moderate, not jammed. The breeze from the ocean brought a scent that told Zoie, “You’re at the beach.”
Tina’s efficiency was one block from the ocean, on the fifth floor of a pink-stucco midrise building. The place came with assigned parking underneath.
After the slow ride up the creaking elevator, Tina opened the door to the small apartment. The first thing that Zoie noticed was the smell of fresh limes, which masked a hint of mildew. From the vantage point of two steps inside the door, Zoie’s eyes did a quick survey of the place. The place was adorable. Its furnishings, in that Florida-rental style, looked almost new. And leave it to Tina to find a place with live plants.
“A balcony too,” Zoie said, pulling back the sliding glass door and stepping onto the concrete slab with wrought-iron balusters. There was a partially obstructed view of the Atlantic, which in the sun’s glare shimmered like silvery gray mercury.
“Don’t you love it?” Tina asked, giddy, which was not one of her typical emotions. She galloped around the small place, pointing out its features before collapsing onto a big white sofa.
“It’s great. How did you find this place?” Zoie asked.
“Walt,” Tina replied as if she’d known this Walt forever and expected Zoie to make the same instant connection. “It’s a condo. Walt’s friend owns this one and several others in this building. I got a good deal on the rent.”
Zoie made a mental note. She’d have to meet this Walt, who’d lured her friend down to Fort Lauderdale for the yoga project.
“Hope you don’t mind sharing a sofa bed,” Tina said. “It’s a queen.”
“Fine. I sleep pretty still.”
Tina served herbal iced tea. Zoie plopped on the sofa next to her friend, kicked off her shoes, and let her feet join Tina’s on the pine coffee table.
“Yeah! We made it,” Tina said in a toast of subdued excitement.
“At last,” Zoie said, clinking her glass with Tina’s and sighing.
“Zo, you sound like you’re down for the count. It’s too early to crash.”
“I know.”
“Don’t crash on me now. Come on. What are you up for?”
To Zoie, changing into a lounging outfit and curling up with a glass of wine sounded perfect. She’d be satisfied with spending the evening in catch-up girl talk, with a background of soft jazz and an ocean breeze.
“I know what to do—let’s hit South Beach,” Tina said, sitting up straight to dispel the low energy that was about to put them both to sleep.
“South Beach, huh? I guess I could pull myself together,” Zoie said.
“Zo, you’re in the lead. You know your way around here better than I do.”
“Tina, it’s been seven years.”
“Didn’t you come down here all the time? It’ll come back to you.”
An hour later the two had pulled themselves together to go out for the night. Tina did the driving, but Zoie guided her. Zoie remembered. The route to South Beach came back like a bad dream. On other visits Elliot had always done the driving. Indeed, South Beach had changed. Whatever had been in South Miami seven years ago had doubled and spread like a garden growing under a landscaper’s care: more shops, more bars, more restaurants, and more people.
Decked out in minidresses, Zoie and Tina made their way to several clubs. At each place they stopped long enough to dance a couple of dances with eager partners, have a drink, survey the crowd, and depart. Their consensus of each crowd was the same: young and very Hollywood. Always there seemed to be the types of men who were ready and eager to sit at their table and buy them drinks. One over-eager beaver even stroked Tina’s bare arm until she reminded him to “keep his hands to himself.”
“Ugh,” Tina said when the last of the latest tangle of vipers at the Dolphin Club slinked back into the crowd. “Zoie, tell me something: Is it just me, or are they all wearing Italian designers?”
“Tina, it’s not you,” Zoie said, looking out at the crowd. “You know that there’s something about pretty men that turns me off.”
“I guess we asked for it; after all, we showed up at the meat market, dressed as choice cuts. What should we expect to attract?”
“Dogs!” they said in unison, before breaking into rounds of laughter. Their giddiness seemed to keep the men at bay.
As the designated driver, Tina nursed tonic water with lime. Zoie, on the other hand, occupied herself with spearing the olive in her third martini. Florida reminded her too mu
ch of Elliot. The martinis were helping her forget.
“Speaking of dogs,” Tina said. “So Elliot’s come around, huh?”
Zoie looked surprised. “I don’t know about ‘come around.’ What he did was show up.”
“Well, that’s a start.”
“Tina, the thing is I’m not actually sure he meant to see his daughter.”
“What do you mean?” Tina looked puzzled.
“I think Elliot came to visit his parents. His running into Nikki might have been a coincidence.”
“Remember…”
“I know what you’re going to say: there are no coincidences.”
“Bingo.” Tina took a long sip of tonic water. “He may not have known that Nikki was going to be there. But the universe put those two together, because that’s what the universe does.”
Zoie rolled her eyes.
“Elliot was meant to hook up with his daughter,” Tina continued. “He needed to reconcile with being a father, even if it had to happen in his subconscious.”
“Uh-huh. I don’t know how much reconciling went on. I didn’t ask,” Zoie said, stirring her now olive-less drink with the saber pick. The tempo of the music changed.
“I’m sure Elliot melted once he saw Nikki,” Tina said. “How could anyone resist her?”
“Maybe.” Zoie shrugged, her mouth contorted in an unattractive twist.
“And this woman he’s with…she’s his wife, right?”
“Supposed to be. I really don’t know. I haven’t had that conversation with him or his mother.” Zoie stared into her drink before picking it up and downing it.
“Well, maybe this woman is a positive influence on him. Maybe the man has changed.”
“Come on, Tina. Do you really believe people change?”
“Yeah, I do. Everybody goes through a stupid period. For some people adolescence extends well into midlife.”
“Then Elliot’s working on stupid ’til death,” Zoie retorted.
“People do change. Look at me. I’ve changed. Haven’t I?”
It was a rhetorical question. To anyone who knew Tina, her change had been unbelievable, a metamorphosis of epic proportions: she went from being a high-powered, kick-ass executive type to a mellow, off-the-chart spiritual guru. And she still liked to party.
The club’s DJ picked up the pace as Tina tried to finish her thought. “Change doesn’t happen all at once. Folks transition. They seek enlightenment in stages—unless some cataclysmic event, like a near-death experience, forces the change.”
“Oh, yeah,” Zoie answered. She was finding it difficult to camouflage her irritation. Things had been going well until Tina used the word enlightenment. Zoie didn’t care to hear one of Tina’s preachy enlightenment speeches.
“And I’m not saying everyone makes that journey,” Tina continued.
Luckily the increasing volume of the music drowned out further discussion of spiritual journeys, right at the point where Zoie was going to zone out.
“Tina, I must be getting old,” Zoie shouted over the base thunder. “We’ll both lose our hearing if we stay here.”
“Then let’s move.”
The two friends weaved their way through the crowd, toward the club’s entrance. A few yards from their goal, the club’s large glass doors, several guys blocked their exit.
“Hello, ladies,” said the tallest of the three, who was wearing a Tommy Bahamas–style shirt. His hair was slicked back like Don Johnson’s in Miami Vice. The other two, one black and the other Hispanic looking, hung back as the self-elected white spokesman for the trio stepped closer to Zoie. A little too close. “Can’t leave now, ladies. The party’s just getting started!” he shouted over the booming music.
Zoie gave him a lopsided smile and her best New York–schooled, all-purpose stare. “Sorry, guys—we’re in a hurry.” From behind she grabbed Tina’s hand and gave her a “come on” tug. With a wide side step, they passed the guys and were out the door in seconds. The glass door swung closed, muffling the eardrum shattering boom boom inside.
In the warm Miami air, Zoie took a long, deep breath. “Girl, I can’t hang anymore. Ten years ago I would have closed the place and danced each of those dudes into the floor. But now even if I could, I don’t want to.”
“I know what you mean,” Tina sighed.
It was a respectable two o’clock when they rolled into the condo’s parking space.
The next morning, Tina was up, dressed, and rushing to meet Walt at nine. Fingering her curly, close-cut coif, she explained that Walt was anxious to show her his studio. He had arranged for her to meet the seniors who’d volunteered to be in the yoga video. Volunteering didn’t mean they were automatically in. They had to audition.
“How am I going to tell an eager eighty-year-old, ‘You didn’t make the cut’?” Tina asked Zoie, who lingered in bed, her eyes half-closed, as Tina dressed.
Zoie didn’t answer. She was in the first stage of martini recuperation. Drinking had never been her thing. Why hadn’t she remembered that last night? She covered her eyes with her arm, wishing that the bright sun from the balcony doors would go away. “Do we have to get up?” she moaned.
“I do, but you don’t. Sleep in. Walt’s picking me up downstairs in a few minutes. There’s herb tea in the cupboard, bran muffins on the counter, and cut-up fruit in the fridge.”
“Thanks,” Zoie managed, although the act of speaking was painful.
“And I’m leaving the car keys and an extra door key on the table. But the way you look, I doubt you’ll be going anywhere.”
To Zoie’s throbbing ears, the keys hitting the table sounded like empty trash cans being overturned in an alley.
Zoie made her mouth move. “I’ll get up. I told you I’m going to Boca.” The forearm she’d been using to shield the sun’s rays from her eyes dropped away. Through her headache blur, she could see Tina’s silhouette at the foot of the bed. Her friend was shaking her head. “Why don’t you wait? Wait until I get back. Then I’ll go to Boca with you. I’ll make sure Walt gets me back by one.”
For a second Zoie felt waiting for Tina sounded like a plan. Despite her fogged brain, her better judgment set in. This was going to be her opportunity to check out her hunch about potential improprieties at the Foundation.
“That’s okay. I’d rather do this alone,” Zoie explained. “I don’t want to cut into our beach time. I want to get this over with.” Zoie was about to add that if they showed up together at Carmen Silva’s door, they might scare the woman into silence. But then again Tina wouldn’t understand the delicacies of the situation without a long explanation. And Zoie’s brain hurt too much for long explanations.
Thank goodness that Tina didn’t push the issue. Once more Zoie closed her eyes and opened them again when she heard a thud near her head.
“Here’s Tylenol, and a glass of water is on the table next to the bed,” Tina said.
“Thanks,” Zoie groaned.
“And I’ve got your cell number, and you’ve got mine.”
Zoie opened her eyes long enough to see Tina using her fingers to indicate the completion of items on her mental checklist.
“Do me a favor,” Zoie said, her voice low and hoarse like a longtime smoker.
“What? Did I forget something?”
“Turn on your phone.”
“Oh.” Tina smirked. She had the habit of keeping her cell phone off. Often it was impossible to reach her directly. The new Tina had severed the electronic appendage that used to hang from her ear. Even in a detached state, she kept phones at a distance—unconnected.
“What’s the point of having your number if I can’t get in touch?” Zoie said, straining to get her voice beyond a gravelly whisper.
“Okay, Ms. Leftover Martini, I’ll turn it on.”
“Tina, don’t be mean. In this condition I can’t fight back.”
“I know. It hurts. Drink water, and think about what you want to do tonight. If you need to stay in, that’s fine
with me.”
“Definitely no martinis.”
“I’m surprised you can form the word.” Tina turned and left.
Chapter 21
Carmen Silva
Not since her college days had Zoie been so hungover. At one point in the early morning, the pain above her eyes was so brutal that she fantasized about the therapeutic benefits of decapitation—of having a body free of its damaged head. Thanks to two more hours of sleep and some blessed Tylenol, the pulsing pain in Zoie’s temple finally subsided. She extended her arms and lifted her shoulders and managed a gentle stretch. Yes, life was still worth living, but going forward, it would be lived without martinis.
After downing two glasses of water as Tina had instructed and a quiet wait of twenty minutes, she pronounced herself well enough to proceed with her plan to visit the mysterious Carmen Silva.
She showered and dressed at a leisurely pace and then settled on a stool next to the tall counter, which separated the kitchenette area from the rest of the place. The earlier havoc in her head hadn’t affected her stomach. She made a cup of hot tea and, in a matter of minutes, devoured the muffin and fruit lovingly left by Tina.
Her time in Florida would be short, and the day hadn’t started well. Talking to Carmen Silva was a now-or-never matter. Zoie’s best instincts told her that her conversation with this Silva woman had to be in person. Sensitive topics didn’t make for phone discussions, especially between strangers. She checked her notepad for the page where she’d scribbled Carmen Silva’s address. Smiling smugly, she recalled her amateur sleuth activities, in which she had rummaged through Regina’s desk during the after hours to obtain it.
Going to Boca without calling first to check if someone would even be home was indeed a folly. But then the whole thing was folly. Even if Carmen was home, it was a long shot that this woman would be willing to talk to a stranger. The whole thing could backfire. The woman could complain to the Foundation. Still, something drove Zoie on. She had to go through with her plan.