by Carol Caiton
The first building she saw followed the same Mediterranean architecture as the rest of RUSH with its pale stucco walls and terra cotta tiled roof. Nestled snugly amid the jungle, the two-story structure reminded her of an island villa with its profusion of geraniums overflowing flower boxes along the veranda. On one side of the arched, dark-paneled front doors a brass plaque had been mounted to the stucco. Etched in an elegant script was Nos. 1-37 on its center. Her new home.
She pressed her palm to the scanner beneath the plaque and heard the lock release. A ripple of excitement fluttered through her. Then a stab of trepidation followed. She'd agreed to trade her body for a roof over her head.
She paused on the threshold. Somehow she'd find a solution that would get her out of this. She was smart and the board of directors had inadvertently given her some breathing space by slowing down the pace of her training. Maybe she'd get an extra week's reprieve. And if she was lucky, two. She wished she'd thought to ask Simon Yetzer what sort of time frame they had in mind. But he might not know the answer to that.
She stepped inside the building and found herself in a spacious lobby. Cool, sweet fragrance filled the air and she spotted two large vases of fresh flowers centered atop two occasional tables at either side of the reception desk.
Once again the soles of her sneakers scritched on a pale marble floor as she made her way to the large, oval-shaped counter. A pretty girl with short blonde hair looked up and smiled.
"Good morning."
"Good morning. I'm Nina Millering."
The girl's smile widened. "Nina. I was told to expect you today. I'm Stephanie Wheeler, one of your residence attendants. I usually work weekdays, but I'm filling in today."
Nina breathed in the delicately scented air and smiled back. Everyone she'd met since the day of that first visit had been warm and openly friendly. Simon was the only exception.
"I give up," she said. "What's a residence attendant?"
The other girl reached to her left for a file folder and pulled out the top sheet of paper. "I'm a combination girl Friday and concierge, which pretty much means I wear several hats." She placed a blank form on the counter. "When our building fills up though, and new R-links begin moving into the other residences, I'll become a full-time concierge." She smiled. "Meanwhile, I'm also your advisor's secretary. So, if you need an unscheduled appointment, I'm the person to see. And since I'm the receptionist as well, anyone who phones this residence gets me. That goes for the house phones, too. Just press 101 on any house phone if you want to speak to me without coming inside."
"Sorry . . . I don't remember what they told me about house phones."
"They're landline phones scattered throughout RUSH because cell phones aren't permitted on property. You probably saw one outside next to the gate. You can dial any in-house extension, or press 9 for an outside line." She reached for a pen. "I also collect the mail and handle deliveries. And," she grinned, passing the pen to Nina, "within reason, it's my job to make sure anything you want or need finds its way here."
"Anything?"
"Within reason. But reason stretches pretty far for R-links, so let me know if there's something I can help you with."
"That's quite a service."
"I've been told I'm a lifesaver. Of course," she added, "you'll be responsible for cost and delivery fees, but if it's important enough . . . ." She shrugged, then indicated the form with a beautifully manicured, pale pink fingernail. "Sign on the line at the bottom. This says you've officially moved into number thirty-two and that you accept responsibility for damages outside normal wear and tear."
Nina scanned the form, signed, and it was returned to the file folder.
"I'll show you around," Stephanie said, rising from her seat and rounding the counter. "The door over there, to the left of the main entrance, is your advisor's office. Her name is Jen, and her hours are the same as mine—nine to five on weekdays."
Nina followed Stephanie across the lobby, sorely aware of the other girl's chic business suit and the sophisticated click of high heels that contrasted with her own appearance and squeaky sneakers. Stephanie, however, gave no indication that she noticed. It was, Nina supposed, appropriate moving-in attire.
"The office to the right," Stephanie went on, "is for R-link use. You'll be able to access your account from the laptop in your apartment, but the laptop doesn't have Internet capability so these are available twenty-four-seven."
Nina peeked inside. The wall to her left comprised several rows of cluster mailboxes that were a larger, more comfortable size than the tiny ones she'd seen at the post office. Along the right, a low granite counter was divided into three semi-private cubicles. Inside each cubicle sat an all-in-one computer system.
"And speaking of your account," the other girl added, "don't forget to check it at least once a day. That's where your schedule is posted, and that's where you'll receive memos from Admin and other departments, along with any other in-house e-mail." She turned and started back across the lobby. "Also, if Jen makes any schedule changes—and she's been known to do that—you need to know A-sap. I'd suggest checking as often as morning, afternoon, and evening."
She walked back around the counter. "I think that's everything for now. Let me know if you want maid service. Some of the R-links swear they couldn't survive without it, but some prefer to take care of their own places." She lifted both hands, then pointed both index fingers behind her shoulders. "Go through either of the arches to get to the elevator. It's directly behind my desk and it goes down to the tunnels as well as up to the second floor. Oh, and here, let me give you this." She reached for a glossy pamphlet. "This is a more detailed overview of RUSH than the one they show you at Member Services. On back is a list of all the phone extensions for each venue. You might want to keep it on hand until you know your way around."
"I will. Thanks."
"Would you like some help moving in?"
"No. I didn't bring anything heavy. Thank you, though."
"All right. But use the tunnels. In fact, if you go shopping for anything other than clothes or shoes—that sort of thing—you should use the tunnels to bring your purchases back here. Until a week ago, you would've had to use the tunnels for everything. But now that the mall is nearly ready to open, you're allowed to carry a few lightweight bags on the grounds."
"I'll try to remember that," Nina said. She held up the pamphlet. "Will I find a map of the tunnels in here?"
"No. Sorry. You'll have to go back to the checkpoint and sign for one at the main desk. Mostly the tunnels are used for deliveries, and Security uses them because they're discreet. Plus, they're the quickest way to get from one point to another." She smoothed the back of her skirt and sat down. "The board of directors has access, of course, and the R-links. You're free to use them when it rains, or at any other time." She folded her hands on top of the desk and smiled. "I'll stop with that. You'll learn all about R-link privileges and procedures at orientation so don't feel as though you've got to know everything right now."
Nina let out a small laugh. "Good. That's good."
"Can I help with anything else?"
She shook her head. "No. I think I'll go up now and look things over."
"Okay. You've got a corner apartment. When you step off the elevator, turn right and follow the corridor to the end. If you change your mind and want help, let me know."
"I will."
Once again, a little zing of anticipation coursed through her. She walked through the arch on the right, pressed the elevator call button, and waited. Peeking inside the pamphlet Stephanie had given her, she spotted the R-link complex and saw that the meditation alcoves were mapped out and labeled. The brochure she'd seen at Member Services had only mentioned them.
The elevator arrived with a quiet ping and she stepped inside soft lighting, mirrored walls, plush carpeting, and a tapestry-covered bench seat along the side wall. She stepped off again at the second floor, turned right, and the same beige carpet was so thic
k underfoot, it felt spongy.
Evenly spaced wall sconces lit the corridor and she passed six apartments, three on her left and three on the right before reaching the end. She stood for a moment in front of number thirty-two and looked at the small biometric scanner beside the doorknob. The miniature glass square was meant to read a single fingerprint. But which one? Did it matter? She pressed her pinkie onto the square and heard the lock release. Well, that answered that. She turned the knob.
Long, beige drapes had been opened to allow sunlight into the spacious living-dining room through two sets of French doors in the corner—one set on the far wall, the other on the adjacent wall to form an L of small panes. A round oak table and four chairs received light from both with a peaceful view of palm fronds and flowering trees beyond. Across from the dining area was an open kitchen with a breakfast bar. She spotted a stainless steel refrigerator before bringing her gaze back to the living area.
To her right, a white-on-white jacquard sofa and two matching chairs framed a wide, glass-topped coffee table. To her left, directly across from that, a flat-screen television had been mounted to the wall and beneath it an entertainment center, complete with every component she could ever want. Farther down along the same wall, a small writing desk stood between the living and dining areas. On top, still in their boxes, sat a notebook computer and a printer.
Her pulse sped up as she stepped inside. Someone had placed a large vase of flowers on the coffee table, adding a burst of color to the room. It was the only color. Cybil Matheson had said all the apartments were furnished in neutral tones, allowing each occupant to choose her own accents.
She spotted a small florist's card among the flowers, set her purse down on the floor, and plucked it out.
Welcome to RUSH, Nina.
We hope you find everything to your liking.
The Board of Directors
Placing the card down on the coffee table, she walked farther inside and turned in a circle. It felt as though she was trespassing in a home that belonged to someone else. She continued over to the breakfast bar, glancing down a wide hallway as she set her sweatshirt on top of the ivory-colored granite.
Pulling out one of the barstools, she slid up onto it and looked around at the stark, sparkling new kitchen. She didn't even own a dish towel.
Someone knocked on the door, a quick tap, tap, tap.
She slid off the stool and walked back across the living area, wondering if the other R-links knew she'd joined their ranks. Peering through the peephole, she saw a girl on the other side, her blonde hair a mass of thick, corkscrew curls that looked as though they belonged on a child's doll. She wore a deep blue wrapper that barely reached the tops of her thighs, and it must have occurred to her that she was being observed because she stared directly at the peephole and grinned.
Nina opened the door.
"Hi," the girl said. "I'm Libby Pye." She gestured toward the apartment behind her. "Number 31."
Nina smiled.
"I was looking out the window while you were walking up the path. They told us we'd be getting a new neighbor." She shrugged and grinned again. "I just wanted to introduce myself and say welcome."
"I'm Nina. Nina Millering. Want to come in?"
"Yeah, but just for a minute. Do you need help moving your stuff up?"
"I don't have much right now. Just some clothes and small things." She stepped back so the other girl could enter.
"Okay. But Security will assign a couple of guards to help with anything bigger."
"Yes, they told me." She shut the door. "I like your name."
"Libby Pye?" She grimaced. "It's a great name if you're seven years old." She raised ruby-red fingernails to the springy coils of pale hair and stretched a surprisingly long one to its full length. "But between this awful curse and my name, you'd be surprised how many people don't believe I'm twenty-four."
Nina didn't think she'd be surprised at all.
"Oh, boy," Libby said, her eyes traveling around the open space. "I hardly remember my apartment looking like this."
"I was told we all have the same furniture."
"Yeah. But when you start hanging pictures and moving things around, it changes everything. Wait till you see Geneva's place. She's into everything that has anything to do with the Amazon jungle. One of her ex-boyfriends used to work at a zoo and when one of their monkeys died, they sent the little guy to a taxidermist to be stuffed. He was supposed to be used in a display, but something happened and the boyfriend ended up with him. His name—the monkey's—is Jabari, and Geneva coos to him as though he's a live pet. Anyway, it's like walking off one of the paths outside when you visit her. She's got huge plants all over and a couple of bronze, waist-high tiger statues. There's a giraffe that stands as tall as the ceiling, and then there's Jabari. He hangs from a big tree limb suspended across the living room."
"Wow."
"Yeah. It took six security guards to hoist it up to the balcony. They had to saw off some of the branches to pass it through the French doors, then they reattached them and made it look like nothing had been removed."
"I'm surprised they didn't just give her a downstairs apartment."
Libby shrugged. "It's all full downstairs. But the guards would have moved two live trees up here if that's what she wanted. If it's within their power, the men here will do whatever they can to make you happy. And if you're an R-link, well, they pretty much worship the ground you walk on."
Nina raised both brows.
"No kidding. Maybe it's part of their orientation. And they have to attend etiquette classes, same as we do." She tightened the belt on her wrap. "We're all treated with gentlemanly courtesy—you know, opening doors for us, giving us the right of way—that kind of thing. But if you're an R-link, you're like royalty. It's . . . well, some women wouldn't like it, but I love it. And I love the men here for it."
Nina thought about Simon Yetzer. He'd either slipped through the cracks and missed out on those classes, or he was in dire need of continuing education. "Do you think they'd let me have a dog? Or a cat?"
"A living animal?"
"It breaks my heart to see them in cages at the pound."
Libby made a face and shrugged. "You can ask. And they'll probably say yes."
"So everything I was told at Member Services is pretty much trustworthy?"
"Oh, God, yes. Better. You'll see." She started back toward the door. "Anyway, I'm on scene at one o'clock today so I need to march my booty over to the salon. I just wanted to knock and say hi. Maybe we can get together for coffee later on. Or lunch tomorrow."
Nina opened the door. "I'd like that. I have a lot of questions."
"Yeah, I did when I first got here, too. Geneva gave me some pointers. If you meet up with her before I have a chance to introduce you, don't let her standoffishness bother you. She's a real softie underneath."
"Okay."
"And let me run over to my place for an icepack for your cheek. I'm not gonna ask any questions, but just so you know, if anything like that happens here, the men in charge will have the guy thrown in jail and you'll never see him at RUSH again."
Nina hadn't forgotten her swollen face. She felt the tight puffiness whenever she smiled. Unfortunately, though, it wasn't something she could hide.
"Thanks, Libby. I appreciate it."
"Sure. Be right back."
Less than a minute later, ice pack in hand, Libby knocked again. "I know you don't have ice yet, so I put some in there for you."
"Thanks again."
"No problem. See you later."
Libby disappeared behind her door again and Nina closed her own. When she turned around, she saw a telephone on the wall beside the breakfast bar. She should call Lydia. Maybe their mother had had enough time to calm down and regretted throwing her out. And maybe their father wished he hadn't struck her.
Placing Libby's icepack down on the glass coffee table, she walked back to the barstool. Sliding up onto the cushioned seat, she picked
up the receiver and dialed her sister's number.
"Nina?"
"Hi, Lyd."
"Nina, are you okay?"
"I'm okay. Can you talk?"
"Yes. I'm in my bedroom."
Staring at the stovetop she asked, "How are things there? How's Mom?"
Lydia didn't answer right away and her spirits sank. Propping an elbow on the counter, she rested her forehead on her hand. "You might as well tell me. I need to know what I'm dealing with."
"Give things some time to settle down, Nina."
"Lydia, how am I going to know if the situation improves if you don't tell me how bad it is right now? And what about you? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"All right then, tell me."
Several seconds passed. Then Lydia said, "I didn't know it would be like this."
Nina shut her eyes. "Tell me," she said again.
Lydia sighed. "Mom asked if I knew you were planning to move out."
"We thought she probably would. What did you say?"
"I told her yes. But then she asked if I knew you'd been going to RUSH for the past six months."
Nina opened her eyes and stared down at the granite. That wasn't a question either of them had anticipated. "Please tell me you lied and said no."
Lydia hesitated. "I didn't get a chance to say anything."
"Why? What happened?"
Silence.
"Lydia?"
"I . . . . Dad started carrying your things outside."
"My things?" It took a minute for the words to make sense. "What do you mean outside? To the trash?"
Silence again.
"Lydia."
"Yes. Out to the trash."
"What things? What did he throw away?"
"Everything, Nina. Even that little cactus you kept on the windowsill."
