by Avery Aster
Personally, I hate the subway. Every time I ride the narrow car, a man, some hideous bastard, finds a way to squish his portly body against mine and then smile at me with a sign of pleasure. As if the morning train ride is his big thrill for the day.
Don’t get me wrong, the subway provides a great service to many passengers, especially those coming downtown from Yonkers and Harlem. But for me, I’d rather walk or ride my bike.
“Okay,” I mutter and wipe my lips on a napkin. The creamy taste of the Gouda laces my tongue. God, I love this cheese.
“I’m not going to lie, Piper. It’s going to be rough. But you knew this when you bought the place. No surprises there.”
“Do you think if Bo and I put our unit on the market, we could get back what we paid for it?”
“Are you serious?” she asks, her facial features going smooth.
“Ah-huh.” I nod, convincing myself that this is the best idea. “Without my husband and my dog, I don’t see the sense of living here anymore. I mean, we got this unit so Orlane could have the terrace to play on.” I glare over at the gate he most likely escaped from and feel suddenly nauseous. “Do you really think it’ll sell?”
“Honestly? No, darling. I don’t. Not right now. People aren’t visionary. They want turnkey. However, you could always rent it out, and easily so. We could get three grand a month for this place, which would give you enough to cover the mortgage and a little left over for play money.”
My cell rings. I reach across the chaise lounge for it. The screen lights up with ‘NYPD.’
“Mrs. Adler?”
“Hello, Detective.” I recognize his voice immediately and put my hand up, signaling to Maxine that I’m going to be a minute. “Have you found out who broke into my apartment?”
“No. That’s not why I’m calling.”
“Oh. Why, then?” I roll my eyes.
“You reported a dog missing a few weeks ago. Correct?”
“Yes, Orlane. He’s a wheaten terrier.”
“Animal Control called, said they found him.”
“That’s great!” The ache in my heart subsides. “Where is he? When can I get him?”
He sighs into the phone heavily as if dreading something.
“Wait. I don’t understand. Why would they call the police and not me?” I bite the inside of my cheek.
“Can come down to the station?”
My gaze flicks upward at Maxine for a minute as I ponder how to react. “Tell me now over the phone. What’s going on?”
“Your dog is dead, Mrs. Adler. I’m sorry. His body was found in Central Park a few days ago by a jogger, who then called Animal Control to remove him. When AC arrived, they noticed the dog had been shot. That’s when they called us.”
“Killed?” My jaw stiffens as tears streak my cheeks.
“That’s correct. We’re running a ballistics report on the bullet found in the body. Looks like it came from a 9mm handgun.”
I release a long exhale and stare off into the white sky at nothing, finding the courage to rip this cop a new one. “I can’t believe this. I told you someone is out to destroy my life and you didn’t believe me.”
“Do you know who would want to harm your dog, Mrs. Adler?” His voice is annoyingly calm. I’m just another case for him. He doesn’t give a shit about my dog or me.
“No, you asshole.” My voice rises in volume and intensity, causing Maxine to put her hand on my shoulder, probably to try and calm me down. “Don’t you think if I did I would tell you? Don’t you think I would’ve gone after them myself? It’s obvious you don’t know what the hell you’re doing.” I know it’s not the cop’s fault, but I don’t care. I’ve been so composed, trying to keep it together. Well, not any more.
“I’m sorry you feel that way. Orlane’s remains are at the AC office on 105th Street. You may call them or stop by to decide on what you’d like to do with him,” he says flatly.
“Don’t think I won’t be filing a complaint about your incompetence. Or calling the local paper. My dog is dead because of you. My husband has left me. Child services won’t let me foster. My life is ruined.” Disgusted with him, the entire situation, and myself, I hang up and wipe the tears from my eyes.
Maxine reaches over and hugs me, the familiar smell of her floral and green perfume blanketing me as I sob on her shoulder.
“I can’t believe this is happening to me. I hate living here. I’ve got to move.”
“Give me a couple of days. I’ll get the paperwork started on your sublease and approval with the board. We’ll get you outta here in no time.”
“Thank you, Maxine. Thank you for everything.”
“You can’t move. You’re the only person in the building I truly get along with.” In a huff, Reid takes the overnight Gucci tote I packed for Keely’s and sets it by the door.
“I’ve made up my mind. I’m tired of trying to hang on to everything.”
“Who are you?” His face pinches with obvious annoyance. “What happened to the Piper Adler I know and love?”
Exhausted from the stress of it all, I throw myself on the khaki sectional sofa in the living room and watch as Reid paces my apartment, alternating between cursing and saying anything and everything he can to get me to change my mind.
A smile graces my lips, one I haven’t felt in a while. He’s in a good place. Earlier, Reid told me he’d tested negative for HIV and that Incredible Irene was being sold to another company. His cartoon legacy is carrying on.
“There’s nothing you can say.”
He plops down next to me dramatically, reaches for my hands like we’re in group prayer or something, and says, “Do you know how many couples get divorced out of anger? Years later, they look back and wish they’d made it work.”
“What are you, a shrink?”
He laughs and then purses his lips into a frown. “I’m serious. My parents have had years where they lived apart. Ya know, very Victorian of them. Separate bedrooms. Different houses. Hell, on other continents. But they always came back together and made it work.”
“That’s because your father is worth millions and your mother didn’t want to get a job.”
“True.” His blue eyes narrow. “I can’t blame her. She lives like a Vanderbilt.”
“Well, I don’t need Bo’s money.”
“I get that you’re mad at him for thinking you tried to kill yourself.” He points to a signed Incredible Irene cover he’d given me a few months ago, which I’d framed and put on the coffee table. “If there’s one thing I know from doing my comics, it’s that good and truth will always prevail. Not at first, Piper. Give it time. It’ll rise to the surface faster than thick black oil coming up from Texas soil.”
I shake my head at his silly analogy. “You’ve been watching too many reruns of Dallas.”
“Why don’t we do this? Give the Barclay another year. Go through the construction with the subway. Focus on your work. Keep the lines of communication open with Boden. Maybe get another dog. Yes, a pet would make you feel better.”
“No it won’t,” I lie.
Studies show that dog owners who mourn their pooch should in fact get a replacement pet within days of putting their loved furbaby to rest.
“I also bet that child services will come around. Yes, honey, mark my words, once your suicide attempt proves false, all will be forgotten. You just have to give it time.”
“I don’t want to.” Again, another lie.
The explosions start tomorrow, so tonight we all have to leave the Barclay. As much as I’d like to move on and start over, my gut is telling me to stay and fight.
“Piper, come on. I’m only going to say this once, and I want it to sink into that beautiful head of yours, okay, Miss Thang?”
“Let’s hear it.”
“You’ve overcome more obstacles than anyone I know. You lived in a group home, on the streets, put yourself through college, started a business, found a great guy, and live in one of the most coveted buildin
gs in the city. Life won’t get any better than this, honey. It just won’t.”
Resting my head on the sofa cushion, I turn to him, admiring his enthusiasm, and defend, “Maxine already has a tenant lined up to sublease this place.”
“And where will you go?”
“Keely said I can stay with her.”
“Your binge-eating patient,” he clarifies in light sarcasm.
I glare at him for talking about her that way.
“Since when do you mix business with pleasure?” He crosses his arms over his broad chest.
“In recent weeks, we’ve become close. Keely is no longer a patient but a friend. I really like her. She’s smart and funny. She’s a true New York survivor. An inspiration.” I realize that I’m none of those things, not anymore. Which isn’t like me.
He shrugs. “You can always tell Maxine you changed your mind.”
“She doesn’t strike me as a person who just goes with the flow and will cater to my every whim like that.” I pause. “I remember when she took us apartment shopping. She showed us three units. The other two were dumps. She demanded that Bo and I put an offer on this place.”
Opening his mouth, almost as if to criticize, he stops. “We’re all leaving here in a few hours. Why don’t you walk over there and tell her that you’ve changed your mind? That you want to give this place, your Upper East Side life, another year before you pull the plug and collapse like some ninny.” He glances at his wristwatch. “Go on, get over there. You’re not moving.”
“Fine.” A sense of relief comes over me. I think I just needed some encouragement not to give up, not to quit. Reid is right; I’ve worked too damn hard to get here.
He stands, giving me a hug. “I’m going to that gay hotel over in Times Square for the night.”
“The one that has drag queen bingo in the lobby?”
“That’s the one, honey. Bring your new gal pal, Kiwi.”
“It’s Keely,” I correct him as he rolls his eyes. “Once I get over there, I’ll text you. I think she’d enjoy that.”
“Love ya, Piper girl,” he says as he heads down the hall.
“I love you too.” My eyes sting a little with tears. I never say “I love you” to anyone other than Bo. Not even to my mom. Growing up in foster care, I just didn’t have the opportunity to talk like that, especially from the heart. Always guarded.
Walking toward the elevator, I make my way up to Maxine’s apartment. She’s on the top floor in a lovely penthouse. Since moving here, I’ve only been to her place a few times.
Carmine is standing in the hallway in front of her apartment, a trolley cart carrying supporting a large box, nearly the size of a refrigerator.
“What’s in there?” I ask him.
“Probably more of Ms. Valentine’s antiques.”
Slowly the door creeps open. “Piper, you just caught me. I’m about to head out for the night. Carmine, can you wheel that into the foyer? I’ll bring the cart down when I leave.”
“Sorry, do you mind if I come in?” I ask.
“Not at all, darling.”
Maxine shows me to the living room sofa and I take a seat. She signs for the package from Carmine, who’s already used his house keys to slice open the box.
“Isn’t this gorgeous?” She shouts with enthusiasm.
“Where would you like it?” Carmine asks, taking a large colorful glass sculpture from the box.
“It’s a Chihuly,” she explains. “Oh, it’s just magnificent. Let’s put it on the table in the dining room.”
Personally, I can’t tell if it’s an oversized vase or a statue. It’s striking though.
Carmine disappears into the apartment while Maxine grins her red glossy lips in my direction. A few seconds later, he’s back at the doorway.
“Want me to take this box down for you?”
“Don’t be silly. Like I said, I’ll take it to the trash when I’m on my way out. I need the trolley to help me with my luggage.”
He waves in m direction. “If you ladies don’t mind, I’m heading home. I’ll see you in a few days. You know, after the explosion.”
I watch as Maxine doesn’t tip Carmine, like I would’ve done. I find that disheartening. Instead she shows him to the door and then comes into the living room.
“Don’t get mad, but I’ve changed my mind. I want to stay here at the Barclay. I’m going to try and get my marriage back on track, see if Bo will move back in. Take another go at it.”
Her face, normally sprite and happy, takes on a serious tone. “Are you sure? Is that what Boden wants too?” Her wrists, decorated heavily in gold bangles, rise as she puts her hands to her hips.
“We haven’t talked about a reconciliation, not yet. But I know in my heart he’s just angry right now. Once we both calm down, he’ll come around. He loves me. And I love him.”
“Why don’t I make us some tea?”
“That would be lovely.”
“I have herbal tea with fruit flavors from my last trip to Paris, or a green tea from Japan. Which would you like?”
“Paris, please.” I smile up at her as she turns toward the kitchen.
I stand and walk over to the wall, admiring the photos. Each is in black and white, framed in sterling silver. They run the gamut of Maxine’s entire life. My eyes catch a photo of her and Bo back in college, probably from when they were freshmen.
“Here we are.” She saunters in with a tray of cookies and a pot of tea. After pouring me the first cup, I sip lightly. Not too hot, so I take a big gulp.
“How is it?”
“Bitter but sweet. I like it.” I take another.
She reaches for a cookie and breaks it in half, the dry crumbs falling on her lap. “That photo you were looking at was right after Boden and I first met.”
“You were so beautiful back then.” I pause. “I mean, you’re still really pretty. Striking, actually. I’ve just never seen a photo of you when you were younger. Bo says you had your pick of men though.”
“Oh did he now.” She reaches for the pot and tops off my tea. “So you’d like to cancel the sublease contract I drew up on your behalf? Tell the tenant you’re staying?”
I nod. “Would you mind?”
“I wish it were that easy, Piper. The tenant could sue you if we don’t let him move in.”
Huh? “I haven’t signed anything yet, so I don’t see what legal grounds he’d have.”
“Darling, I worked very hard to get you that tenant.”
“And I appreciate that. I’d be more than willing to pay your broker fee.” I sense she’s getting upset, so I put my hand, which is suddenly feeling a bit heavy, on her knee to try and comfort her.
“It’s not about the money, darling. It’s about respect.” The cookie in her hand crumbles as she balls her hand into a fist. “Oh, look what you’ve made me do. Let me get something to wipe this up with. I’ll be right back.”
Maxine goes into the kitchen.
My cell rings. It’s Keely.
“Hey, there. I should be over at your place in about an hour or two.”
“I’m still at the office. I wanted to let you know that my colleague yesterday told me that your handwriting did not match, and I just got an alert from FingerFinder. They’ve identified the third set of fingerprints on the suicide note.”
I try to lean up but I can’t. Dizziness overcomes me. I try to talk but my tongue suddenly feels as if it’s rubber, causing me to slur.
Unaware of my sudden inebriation, Keely continues, “The fingerprints belong to a Maxine Valentine. Does that name sound familiar to you? I did some digging. Apparently she’s a real estate agent. Lives in your building. She’s been married three times. Widowed twice. Divorced once. Does any of this ring a bell, Piper?”
The phone, which was pressed firmly to my right ear, falls onto the sofa.
Hovering over me, Maxine picks up the cell, opens her living room window, and tosses it out onto Second Avenue as if it were a gum wrapper. “Wher
e you’re going honey, you won’t be needing that.”
“What are you doing?” I manage to ask, rubbing my hands over my face. “Why am I so sleepy? What did you put in that tea?”
She pulls a gun out of her Fendi handbag. “I stole this from Jana. I don’t think she even knows it’s missing. It came in handy the other day. I was in Central Park and this wild dog attacked me. Shot it right on the spot.”
WTF! Outraged by her admission, I regain a sense of energy and focus. “You murdered Orlane.”
Then everything falls into place.
“You drugged me that night. You wrote that note trying to kill me.”
“I roofied you. Much like what you have in your system now.” She smirks. “I also called Lutheran Child Services, told them what an unfit parent you’d make.”
“But why?” I try to stand, but my legs are like jelly. I slam my hand painfully against the coffee table and fall to the floor.
“Because, Piper, Bo and I are finally going to be together. We’ve always been meant for one another. Don’t you see it? He loves me and I love him.”
My face pressed against her plush rug, I bring my chin up and spit at her, “You’re a crazy fucking bitch!”
“Actually, on the contrary, my darling. See, I’ve been so patient all these years. Waiting for the right time for Boden and me to become an item. It’s unfortunate that he met you. But I’m here to fix that now.”
Legs heavy, I roll over onto my side, trying to see where she’s standing. My vision is so blurry. This can’t be happening.
Dragging my limp body by the shoulders, she pulls me into the foyer.
“What are you doing?” I let out a slow and short breath.
“This is how it’ll go down, Piper. I’m going to put you in this box that’s on the trolley. Then I’m going to wheel you down to the basement, lock you in your old storage closet, and tomorrow, my friend, you, along with everything left down there, will explode.
Eyes filling with tears, I try to scream, but she slaps black tape over my lips.
