She’d tried living on her own for a bit, but her money had begun to run out quickly, and she’d had to beg Thayer to let her move in with him.
She’d even tried looking for a regular job, but it turned out James had been right about the effects of writing a graphic sex column. Every potential employer seemed to know about it, and she couldn’t even get an interview for an interview. Then she’d run into Schiffer Diamond during one of her stakeouts of One Fifth. Schiffer had spotted her standing by the bushes in front of Flossie Davis’s building, and had crossed over to greet her. “Hey, kiddo,” she said, as if they were actual friends and she hadn’t stolen Philip away from her. “I’ve been wondering what happened to you. Enid said you were back in town.”
Lola tried to remind herself of her hatred of Schiffer Diamond but was overwhelmed by Schiffer’s persona — she was a movie star, after all, and if someone had to take Philip away, wasn’t it better that it was Schiffer Diamond and not some other twenty-two-year-old like herself? So Lola found herself pouring out all her troubles, and Schiffer agreed to help her, saying it was the least she could do. Schiffer had arranged for her to meet Harold Dimmick, one of the directors on Lady Superior. Due to Schiffer’s recommendation, Harold had hired her, but Lola no longer believed Schiffer had anything to do with it. Harold was such a freak, only someone as desperate as Lola would even consider the job.
“So you’re finally up,” Thayer said, coming into the apartment.
“I worked last night until three A.M., if you recall,” Lola snapped. “Not everyone has a cushy nine-to-five job.”
“Try nine-to-seven,” Thayer said. “And the Gooch is making me work today. Have to take her kid to the train station to meet his girlfriend.”
“Ugh,” Lola said. “Why can’t she go herself? It’s her kid.”
“She’s working,” Thayer said. “On her book.”
“It’s going to be horrible. I hope it’s a flop.”
“It’ll probably be huge. She gets over a hundred thousand views on her blog.”
“She could have at least gotten us invited to the wedding.”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” Thayer scoffed. “We’re considered the help.”
“Well,” Lola said, insulted. “If you want to think about yourself that way, go ahead. I never will.”
“What do you plan to do about it?” Thayer asked.
“I’m not going to just sit around and let things happen to me. And neither should you. Listen, Thayer,” Lola said, going into the tiny kitchen and taking a bottle of VitaWater out of the mini refrigerator, “I’m not going to continue to live like this. I’ve been looking at ads for real estate. There’s a tiny apartment in the basement of a building on Fifth Avenue, between Eleventh and Twelfth Streets, for four hundred thousand dollars. The building just went co-op.”
“Ah,” Thayer said. “Billy Litchfield’s old building.”
“With your hundred thousand a year and my eighty, that’s ninety thousand a year after taxes. That’s almost eight thousand a month. We ought to be able to afford a mortgage on that.”
“Right,” Thayer said. “And the apartment is probably the size of a shoe box.”
“It was a storage room. But so what? It’s on Fifth Avenue.”
“And the next thing you know, you’ll be wanting to get married,”
Thayer said.
“And?” Lola said. “It’s not like you’ll ever find anyone better than me.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said. The skies outside the window were dark-ening, and there was a clap of thunder. “Storm’s coming,” Thayer said. “I’d better get moving.”
While he was waiting in Penn Station with Sam, the clouds passed over without producing rain. Coming out of the station on Seventh Avenue with Dominique in tow — she was a scrawny kid with limp blond hair, Thayer noted — the air was so still and hot, it was almost nauseating.
Thayer flagged down a taxi and urged his charges into the backseat. “I’ve never been to New York before. It’s so crowded. And ugly,” Dominique exclaimed.
“You haven’t seen the good part yet. Don’t worry, kid, it gets better,”
Thayer said. As the taxi edged down Fifth Avenue, another bank of thunderclouds rolled across lower Manhattan. The skies opened just as the taxi pulled up in front of One Fifth, pelting Thayer and Sam and Dominique with drops of rain the size of pennies.
“I’m soaked!” Dominique screamed, running into the building.
Roberto came forward with an umbrella — too late — and shook his head, laughing. “Bad weather out there, eh, Sam?”
Sam wiped the water off his face. “They said it was supposed to clear up later.”
“I’m sure it will. Just in time for the wedding. Mrs. Rice always gets what she wants,” Roberto said, and winked.
In honor of the occasion, the lobby was festooned with hundreds of fra-grant white roses. Dominique looked around in wonder, taking in the uniformed doormen, the paneled walls, and the riot of flowers. “I can’t believe you live here,” she said, turning to Sam. “When I grow up, I’m going to live here, too.”
Thayer smirked. “Good luck.”
The scent of the flowers drifted into the Gooches’ apartment, assault-ing Mindy’s nose as she sat poised in front of her computer. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes for a moment and sat back in her chair. When had it begun, she wondered, this mysterious and unfamiliar feeling of contentment? Was it when Annalisa Rice had returned to One Fifth without Paul? Or had it actually begun earlier, when she’d started writing her blog? Or had it perhaps sneaked up on her when she discovered James was having sex with Lola? God bless that little slut, Mindy thought.
Thanks to Lola, she and James now had the perfect marriage. James didn’t dare cross her. And she no longer had to worry about providing him with sex. Let him have his occasional tartlet on the side, she thought. She had everything she wanted.
Positioning her fingers above the keyboard, she typed: “The Joys of Not Having It All.” She paused for a moment and, gathering her thoughts, began:
“Why shouldn’t life be easier if it can be? Accept good fortune and damn the rest.”
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One Fifth Avenue Page 49
