On the Avenue

by Antonio Pagliarulo

  “Look at this,” Park said from across the room. “Dozens of clippings about the Avenue diamond— including two old stories about Mom and us.”

  “Was tonight the first time Zahara was granted permission to wear the diamond in public?” Madison asked.

  Park nodded. “Totally—and I still don't understand why she was allowed to wear it. I mean, the diamond is generally something you'd wear to the Oscars or the Golden Globes, not a fund-raiser.”

  There was a sudden commotion outside. The noise cut through the air and made them all stand up a little straighter. Lex ran to the window. Peeking through the blinds, she stared down at the street and gasped when she spotted three police cruisers parked out front.

  And the familiar face of Detective Charlie Mullen staring up at the town house.

  11

  The Escape

  There was no time to panic. Even though Madison felt like a fist was squeezing her heart, she followed Park's lead and kept her mouth shut. She didn't think about the fact that they were in a town house without a back exit. She didn't think about the jail term that would follow a charge of breaking and entering. She merely clenched her fists at her sides and watched as Lex flicked off the small lamp.

  Darkness plunged over the room. Voices rose up from the street as the police neared the front door.

  Madison heard Park shuffling in her briefcase for something, and a moment later a small beam of light cut a path to the corridor. The flashlight worked like a charm.

  “Come on,” Park whispered. “We have to get out of here.”

  “How?” Lex's voice sounded strained. “We can't go out through the front door, and the back door leads to an enclosed garden. We're totally trapped.”

  “No we're not! Don't say that!” Madison snapped. “There has to be a way out of here.”

  The flashlight trailed over the walls as they bolted out into the corridor. The thin beam bounced and spun and then finally stopped above their heads. Park was tracking it slowly along the ceiling. There was a small alcove to the right that led to a bathroom. Just beyond it, half hidden by a series of hanging plants, was a door.

  Madison knew what they were about to do—what they had to do—and the very thought of it sent a wave of dizziness washing over her. She stared numbly as Park and Lex ran to the door and pried it open. It wasn't a closet; it was a short narrow stairwell that led up to the rooftop. A draft blew past her. She instinctively stepped back.

  Park turned around. “Madison, we have no choice,” she said gently, shining the flashlight at her. “It's the only way.”

  Madison hated heights. It was a miracle that she'd managed to live in the penthouse all these years. She rarely looked out the windows and never ate dinner on the terrace during the warm summer months. She didn't understand people who enjoyed those dizzying panoramic views from the Empire State Building. You got that high up and a gust of wind could float you like a piece of paper. Now she shook her head vigorously. “Forget it,” she whispered. “I can't do it.”

  “Of course you can!” Lex shot back, annoyed. “There's no time to discuss this. We have to—”

  Downstairs, the front door opened and the din of voices echoed through the town house. It sounded as though five or six cops had entered; almost immediately, they began shuffling through drawers and barking orders at each other. Detective Mullen's voice was the loudest: “See what you can find, boys. Dust for prints just in case, and tag anything that looks to be of interest. I'm heading upstairs to see what else I can find out about the vic.”

  The fear that surged through Madison was monumental. Her eyes widened, and in that moment she realized how close they were to getting caught. She hurried forward and clasped Lex's outstretched hand. Quietly, carefully, they mounted the stairwell as Park closed the door behind them.

  The sky yawned wide open as they reached the upper landing and stepped onto the rooftop. It was a beautiful sight—skyscrapers twinkling in the distance, a bright sliver of moon—but Madison nearly dropped to her knees when she realized that there was nowhere to go but down. She clutched a hand to her stomach. The rooftop was flat and built out with a deck, the wooden railings on each side about four feet high; a small professionally landscaped garden occupied one corner, and several rosebushes were just beginning to bloom.

  “Come on,” Park urged them. “We can't just stand here.”

  “Where else are we gonna go?” Madison cried.

  Park pointed across the expanse of rooftops: the town houses were all the same height, four of them connected like a single block of cement. There were no alleyways in between. Zahara Bell's town house was the third one in the row.

  “The last one, down at the corner—it's actually an apartment building,” Lex said. “Maybe we can reenter there and make it down to the street.”

  Park nodded. She dropped the flashlight into her briefcase, then stuffed the briefcase tightly under her left arm.

  “You—you're both crazy!” Madison stammered. “We'll never make it! And can't you feel the wind? It'll blow us right off!”

  “Of course it won't,” Park assured her. “All we have to do is scale the walls of each roof deck. Come on.”

  Madison watched as her sisters edged though the deck railings and ran to the far side of the roof. She hated that they were so fearless. She took a single step forward and winced. Her legs wobbled as if she were standing in cheap stilettos. She made it to Lex's side and finally allowed her eyes to focus.

  Park wrapped her hands around the top of the wall running along the edge of the building, struggling to maintain her grip. She climbed, swung one leg over the side, and paused to study the next rooftop. Straddling the wall, she looked down at Lex and Madison and said, “Perfect. It's almost identical to Zahara's. Piece of cake.”

  Lex went next. She wrapped the long scarf around her head and neck and made it to the top of the wall. But she didn't jump over to the next rooftop. Instead, she stared at Madison and held out her hand.

  Madison took a deep breath. She studied Lex's outstretched hand as if it were something foreign—an imitation Prada purse or, worse, a slab of costume jewelry.

  “Come on,” Lex said. “I so know you can do this.”

  “You can,” Park echoed from the other side of the wall.

  Madison thrust her hand into Lex's and closed her eyes. She felt herself being instantly pulled up. She glimpsed the wall's edge as her left leg swung over. Her stomach bounced into her throat. Don't look down, she told herself. Just don't look down.

  But of course, she did.

  Perched on the flat top of the wall, her butt against the cold brick, Madison experienced a spell of vertigo so intense, she nearly fainted. The street five stories below looked like a board game spinning out of focus. The cars were little animals zigzagging in every direction. The people were stick figures taking flight. Her jaw dropped wide open, and the energy vanished from her body. “Incoming,” she said weakly, and keeled over the side of the wall.

  She fell back against Park's hands. Then she was sitting on her booty again, dazed and blinking as a cool gust of wind swept past her.

  “Up!” Lex ordered, pointing a finger at her. “There's no time for this!”

  Whimpering, choking back tears, Madison got to her feet and followed her sisters. They dashed across the next rooftop, slipping and sliding on puddles, skirting little tiled gardens and beach chairs left out from last week's warm weather. This time, the wall was easier to mount. Madison did it without squeezing her eyes shut, but the nervous tension roiling in her stomach produced two powerful burps that echoed in the night like a wolf 's howl.

  When they reached the last building, they saw that Lex had been right: it wasn't a private town house like the others but a brownstone converted into several apartments. This was obvious just from glancing around the rooftop: there were dozens of wires snaking along the edges, and a grid beside one of the television antennae detailing the layout of the building.

  Madison saw th
e rooftop door and ran to it breathlessly. Her hopes sank when she realized that it was locked. She whirled around, a fresh wave of panic surging through her blood. “Great!” she cried. “Now what? We're stuck up here.”

  “No, we're not.” Park set the briefcase down on the tarry ground and flipped it open. Arranged neatly inside were several useful tools: two screwdrivers, pliers, three nail files in different sizes, a bottle of nail polish remover, four hairpins, and a small tube of Clarins moisturizer. She handed Lex the flashlight and instructed her to hold it up in front of the knob. Then she went to work.

  Standing off to the side, Madison watched silently as Park kneeled down and picked a small screwdriver from the briefcase. “Hurry,” she whispered.

  Park slipped the screwdriver into the thin space between the doorknob and the frame, jiggling it until she found the latch. She held the screwdriver in position with her left hand and took the bottle of nail polish remover in her right. Uncapping it with her teeth, she splashed a dollop into the space, then handed the bottle to Madison. Another jiggle. There was the faintest click, but Park knew she hadn't gotten the job done completely. She yanked the screwdriver out, dropped it into the briefcase, and retrieved from it the longest nail file. She plunged it against the latch, aiming it at an angle; it stuck, remaining in place after she took her hands away. With the medium-sized hairpin, Park picked the latch with a series of twisting motions—her wrist went left, right, left, up, down, right, left, and then up swiftly. The hairpin stuck as well.

  Park rose to her feet, wiped the grit from her pants, and casually opened the door.

  Lex flicked off the flashlight and flung it into the briefcase, apparently not at all surprised at Park's success.

  Madison gasped. She clapped her hands together, giddy and relieved.

  “There,” Park said. “Faster than I thought it would be.” When all the tools were securely replaced, she removed her leather gloves and reached for the tube of moisturizer. She squeezed some into her hands. As easily as if she were standing in front of a mirror, she slathered it on her face and neck.

  Lex followed, oozing some of the moisturizer onto her own palm before passing it along.

  Madison closed her eyes as the coolness of the moisturizer kissed her face. After all these hours of worry and work and exposure to the elements, it was no wonder their skin needed hydrating.

  The door led to a descending staircase; it was gray and dank and poorly lit, but it took them directly inside the building. Almost instantly, the sound of blaring music cut the air. It grew louder as they followed a narrow hallway that smelled of cigarette smoke, pot, and rotting food. Somebody down the hall was singing above the raucous beat. When they rounded the next corner, Madison came to a complete stop. Her mouth fell open.

  Spread out before them in the next hallway was a full-fledged frat party. They weren't standing in an ordinary apartment building. They were in a college dormitory, replete with overcrowding, bad lighting, and totally stinky air. Students were all over the hallway: up against the walls, squatting on the floor, clustered by their suites like ants in a sugar bowl.

  Madison had never seen so many beer bottles in one place.

  “How lucky could we get!” Lex said. “This looks like so much fun!”

  “Forget it,” Park shouted over the music. She nodded to the very end of the hall, where a red Exit sign glowed brightly. “We have to make it through here and get outside.”

  “But how?” Madison called back. “We're not students. What if we get stopped by someone? We don't have IDs!”

  “Just try to blend in.” Park tightened her grip on the briefcase and pulled the fedora down over her head as far as it would go. Then she plunged into the milling crowd.

  Lex followed.

  Madison wanted to cry out for them to wait, but it was too late. She watched as Park boogied herself down the hallway, stopping every few feet to nod politely at people when they shot her almost curious glances. Lex knotted her scarf over the bottom half of her face and instantly blended with the wild crew of students; when she got to the small mosh pit raging just outside one of the suites, she literally jumped in, rocking back and forth like a headbanger at a heavy metal concert. Then she made her way to the Exit sign with a little two-step dance, looking like another drunk freshman heading outside for a smoke.

  Forcing the stiffness from her body, Madison stepped into the crowd. Bodies bumped against her as she yanked the baseball cap tighter around her head. There was no way to get past the craziness without mimicking some of the craziness, so she threw her arms up over her head and reluctantly stumbled into a dance. She felt completely out of place. She couldn't seem to fall in synch with the music. Moving down the hall, she flattened her hands and stuck them out, walking like an Egyptian as a guy dressed in jeans and a sweat-soaked tank top jumped in front of her.

  “Hey!” he said, giving her a smile.

  Madison smelled the beer on his breath and fought the urge to shove him away. “Hey,” she replied, dropping her voice so that it sounded guttural.

  The guy was marginally cute but had nice muscular arms. He ground his crotch against her thigh and smirked. “I've never danced with a dude,” he screamed over the music. “It feels totally weird, but kinda hot.”

  “I gotta be careful,” Madison told him in the deep manly voice. “My boyfriend's here.” She ground against him one final time, then slipped away. She spotted Park and Lex beneath the Exit sign and ran toward them. “Ugh. This is so rank.”

  Park shrugged.

  Lex, who was still thumping her feet to the music, said, “I can't wait for college.”

  Madison and Park grabbed her by the arm and together they rushed down another two staircases. Outside, they discreetly glanced up the street and saw that the police cars were still parked in front of Zahara Bell's town house.

  “Meet at the corner of Ninth and Fifth,” Lex said quickly.

  They dashed in opposite directions to avoid the possibility of being spotted together. Madison made it to the designated spot first, breathless and panting. Two minutes later, she spotted Park coming up Fifth and waved at her.

  “What now?” Madison asked, raising her arm to hail a cab. “Do we go to the Pierre and hustle Jeremy Bleu into giving us back the diamond?”

  Park shook her head. “We can't risk it. We've had enough close calls as it is.”

  “Do you think the cops have already gotten to Jeremy?” Madison sounded sympathetic. She knew Park was taking Jeremy Bleu's obvious guilt hard.

  “Who knows? At this point, I don't even know what to think. I just wish I could speak to Jeremy face to face for a few minutes.” Park looked away, visibly upset. “It still doesn't make sense to me—how he could be guilty. But I guess if you've lost millions and you're in trouble, stealing the Avenue diamond makes sense.”

  It was four a.m. The crowds were still thick, the traffic busy. Nightclubs were just beginning to unload the first round of partiers, and the second round was making its way east and west through Greenwich Village.

  Suddenly, Lex came tearing up the avenue at breakneck speed. She looked like a marathon runner nearing the finish line. The scarf was flapping behind her neck, and strands of blond hair tumbled down past her shoulders. Her energy was so unchecked, she nearly crashed into Park. “Look!” she said, reaching into her purse. She pulled out a folded copy of the Post and held it out.

  “How did you get this?” Madison asked, her eyes wide.

  “There was a delivery truck on Sixth, so I lifted a copy and ran like hell.” Lex bent over slightly, trying to catch her breath.

  “I don't think I want to see it,” Park said. “Thank you very much.”

  Madison unfolded the newspaper, a knot tightening in her stomach. In that moment, she didn't care about the tilting baseball cap on her head or the streetlight shining down on her. No disguise would be able to shield her, Park, or Lex from the imminent media storm.

  They were front-page news.

&nb
sp; 12

  The Avenue Diamond

  The legend of the Avenue diamond had intrigued Park her entire life. She had first set eyes on it at the tender age of six, while accompanying her father on a Fifth Avenue shopping spree. Hand in hand, they had bought up a storm at Bergdorf 's and Bendel's, then crossed the street to study the windows at Tiffany. And there, encased in glass, was the most stunning object she had ever seen. The enormous diamond was as thick as a crystal showpiece, the strands of light surrounding it as bright as the moon in an Aspen sky. It was a kind of celestial radiance, and Park was sure she had glimpsed a view of heaven. Looking up at her father, she had asked the questions befitting a young celebutante: Why didn't Mom buy it? How many carats is it? May I please have it? She had left the sidewalk empty-handed but utterly transformed.

  Even now, years later, Park equated the diamond with the divine. Precious gems were the work of angels. Gold was a gift of the saints. But the Avenue diamond was God's way of saying, Yes, my daughters, I have style. There wasn't a sane person on earth who would disagree with her. The diamond evoked awe and wonder, mystery and romance. Much more than just a rare rock, it was a one-of-a-kind gemological masterpiece steeped in legend and lore.

  And Park was determined to recover it.

  Outside the windows of her bedroom, it was dawn. Officially Saturday morning. The sun was just beginning to rise. Buildings gleamed against the pink backdrop of the sky and traffic sounded on the streets. Park was sitting at the L-shaped mahogany desk that occupied a small corner of her big bedroom. She hadn't slept since getting back home. She had lain awake for a couple of hours, her mind buzzing with fear and anger and worry. Now she pushed aside the day's newspapers and flipped open her laptop. She clicked through her private files slowly; most were several pages long, comprising her years of research on gemology. She had separate folders for emeralds, sapphires, rubies, pearls—both white and black—and, of course, diamonds. She also had the names of the private jewelers and overseas dealers she'd purchased rocks from in the past, along with their corresponding dollar amounts. Last year alone, she had dropped $60,000 for three pairs of ruby earrings, $110,000 for a 7-carat emerald ring, and $1.6 million for a 15-carat diamond bracelet. The pieces were exquisite, but she had chosen them for more than just their beauty. A smart collector didn't just buy; she invested. Park never spent her allowance without ensuring a profit for herself in the future, and one day, her vast jewelry collection would be worth far more than she had paid for it.