by Lois Winston
“I’m really a photo-journalist, Anastasia. I’ve never wanted to do anything else. I’ve never been a spy, and I have no plans to change my career now or ever.” He paused while this sank in. “Are we cool?”
“We’re cool. Can you forgive me for being such an irrational idiot?”
“Already forgotten.” He flashed one of his sexy Zack smiles, and I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell was wrong with his ex-wife that she let such a great guy get away.
When I rented the apartment to Zack, I had expected a tenant I’d rarely see, given his work schedule. I never anticipated the man would insinuate himself into my life the way he had in such a short time.
“The least I can do is make you breakfast,” I said, needing to put some space between us. “Give me a few minutes to shower. I’ll leave the back door open for you.”
With that I ducked out of his apartment. My hormones had started raging again the moment the man smiled at me, and this time PMS had nothing to do with it. The shower I planned for myself wouldn’t be including any water from the hot water faucet.
Sixteen
After my libido-squelching cold shower, I threw on a pair of jeans and a faded Defy Gravity T-shirt from back before my life had ended up in the crapper and I used to enjoy attending a Broadway show at least once a month. Sadly, theater-going had gone the way of every other luxury. Broadway? Hell, I couldn’t even afford a ticket to a third-rate community theater production.
With that sober thought, I headed to the kitchen to whip up an enormous stack of pancakes. Everyone else was still asleep, but I knew they’d be clamoring for breakfast soon. Alex and Nick had a baseball game today, and I’d promised Mama I’d take her to the Tiffany’s up at Short Hills Mall.
Mama needed to get Cleveland appraised for the insurance company since I hadn’t been able to find a receipt anywhere in Lou’s desk. Either he was one of those guys who never saved receipts, or he’d left it in his desk at work. Frankly, I’d rather pay for the appraisal out of my own pauper’s pocket than explain to Sheri why I needed to rifle through Lou’s office.
Of course, after meeting Lou’s ex-wives at his funeral, I also had my doubts as to whether Lou had actually purchased the ring at Tiffany’s, even if I had seen his latest stock statement. Something definitely wasn’t Kosher on that front. His ex-wives claimed the guy was broke and hadn’t paid alimony in ages, but his investments portfolio stated otherwise.
Either way, the possibility existed that the only genuine Tiffany owned by Mama was that signature robin’s egg blue box. I only hoped for her sake that Cleveland was indeed the real deal, even if a second-rate diamond, and not faux.
Zack walked in just as I cracked the last egg into the flour and our resident Shakespearian scholar squawked his daily wake-up greeting. “I am so hungry, that if I might have a lease of my life for a thousand years I could stay no longer. Henry the Sixth, Part Two. Act Four, Scene Ten.”
“Hell hath no fury like a food-deprived parrot,” I said, turning on the mixer and handing Zack a spatula. “Would you mind while I feed the ruler of the roost?”
Zack grabbed the spatula and stood over the mixer while I filled a water bottle and scooped bird seed into a clean bowl. I had learned shortly after Ralph came to live with us that when the bird wanted his breakfast, now wasn’t soon enough. Ralph had no patience for waiting while I collected his empties, cleaned the containers, and refilled them. He expected me, his servant, to arrive with sustenance in hand.
When I returned to the kitchen, Zack was dropping the first ladle of batter onto the hot griddle. “Hey, I thought I was making you breakfast.”
I took over pancake duty while he poured us each a cup of coffee and began to set the table. One by one the rest of the household woke up and wandered into the kitchen.
Lucille arrived first, Mephisto in tow. “You again,” she said to Zack as she sat down and waited to be waited on. Then she turned to me. “Some example you’re setting for my grandsons the way you dishonor your husband’s memory.”
“Good morning to you, too, Lucille,” I said, slapping a plate of pancakes in front of her.
She grunted. I didn’t fool myself into believing the grunt represented a thank you, but I took the high road anyway. One of us had to act like an adult. I pasted on a smile and said, “You’re welcome.”
She ignored me, choosing instead to tear off a corner of pancake and feed it to Devil Dog.
“Maybe you should stop being so accommodating,” suggested Zack. He grabbed Lucille’s plate out from in front of her. “Good morning, Lucille.”
“How dare you! Give me back my plate!”
“Good morning, Lucille,” he repeated.
Ralph swooped into the kitchen at that moment and took up residence on top of the refrigerator. “Have I thought long to see this morning’s face, and doth it give me such a sight as this?” he squawked. “Romeo and Juliet. Act Four, Scene Five.”
Lucille shot Ralph one of her evil-eyed glares and sent a second one Zack’s way.
“Right on, Ralph,” I mumbled to myself, trying to keep from laughing out loud. I don’t know how he did it, but Ralph never failed to amaze me with his situation-appropriate quotes.
Zack ignored Ralph (how, I’ll never know) and kept his voice calm. “Good morning, Lucille.”
I suppose she finally decided winning the battle of wills wasn’t worth the spoils of cold pancakes. “G’morning,” she muttered through clenched teeth.
Zack returned her plate and turned to me. “See? All she needs is a bit of training.”
“Great. I’ll add it to my to-do list.”
“Stop talking about me behind my back,” said the chore in question.
Alex and Nick arrived next. “Morning, Mom,” they said in unison. They sandwiched me between them and each gave me a peck on the cheek.
“Have an enjoyable night?” asked Nick in a sing-song voice.
“You’re looking very sat—”
“Get your minds out of the gutter!” I snapped at them.
“We’re not little kids,” said Nick.
“You don’t have to pretend for our sake,” added Alex. “We’re totally cool with you and Zack hooking up.”
“We did not hook up!” I turned to the hunk in question. He had a bemused expression plastered across his face. “Would you please set my sons straight? They’re obviously not going to believe a word I say.”
“Nothing happened, guys. Your mother fell asleep on my sofa and slept for twelve hours. I think you owe her an apology.”
“Likely story,” muttered Lucille.
Nick shrugged. “Sure. If that’s the way you want to play this. Sorry, mom.”
“Yeah, sorry,” said Alex.
Neither of them could hide their smirks, and Alex gave Zack one of those guy shoulder punches as he headed for his seat at the kitchen table. I slammed a plate of pancakes in front of him. “We’re not playing anything. Eat your breakfast.”
“Playing what?” asked Mama as she entered the kitchen.
“Mom spent the night at Zack’s,” said Nick.
“Well, it’s about time!” said Mama. “I was beginning to wonder what was the matter with the two of you.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I turned to Zack for support, but all he did was shrug.
From the top of the refrigerator Ralph added his two cents, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks. Hamlet. Act Three, Scene Two.”
“Traitor,” I said.
Having wolfed down her pancakes, Lucille hoisted herself out of her chair and shuffled out of the kitchen. God forbid she bother to place her dirty dishes in the sink.
“That does it,” said Mama. “I’m petitioning the Pope. You deserve sainthood, dear.”
“We’re not Catholic,” I reminded her. “Besides, I’m still very much alive and planning to stay that way for quite some time to come.”
“I certainly hope so,” said Mama, totally ignoring the part about us not be
ing Catholic. “Although if anyone could drive someone into an early grave, it’s that pinko battle axe.”
_____
An hour later, Zack had departed for his apartment, and the boys and Mama were dressed for the day, Mama in one of her classic Chanel summer suits—apricot with white piping—and the boys in their baseball uniforms. I remained in Defy Gravity and my jeans since I was merely the chauffeur.
After dropping Alex and Nick at the ball field, Mama and I headed up to Short Hills. I hadn’t been to the Short Hills Mall since Batswin and Robbins coerced me into a sting operation meant to nab Ricardo. The sting failed big time. That day my life got a whole lot worse before it got any better. Not that my life was anything near a bed of roses at the moment, but at least Ricardo continued to reside in barred and razor-wired accommodations provided by the federal government.
Aside from reminding me of Ricardo, the Short Hills Mall dredged up memories of a life no longer mine. Not that I shopped often at the upscale stores that comprised the mall, but I had shopped there once in awhile. I’ve since gone from an occasional splurge at Bloomingdale’s to being a regular at Wal-Mart.
As I pulled into the parking garage, I wondered if after Mama’s visit to Tiffany’s, I’d be adding another line item to my Reasons For Not Shopping At Short Hills Mall list. I kept my reservations to myself, though. If needed, I’d be there to support and comfort Mama, but I wasn’t about to fill her head with anxiety over my suspicions concerning Cleveland when I might be wrong.
After all, Mama knew more about diamonds than I did, and as far as she was concerned Cleveland was the real deal. Karl had never given me a diamond engagement ring. He thought we should use the money he’d spend on a ring for a down payment on a house. Practical me agreed. Now I wish I hadn’t been so practical. If I had my own mini-Cleveland, I could hock it and pay off a lot of Karl-induced debt.
I parked the car, and Mama and I headed for Tiffany’s. “I’ll wait for you over there,” I said, pointing to the chairs and tables set out in front of the Nordstrom coffee bar. Did I dare splurge and treat myself to a four-dollar latte?
“I’m sure I won’t be long, dear.”
Mama headed into Tiffany’s, and I headed for the coffee bar. Hell, four dollars wouldn’t mean the difference between solvency and bankruptcy. I’d lived like a monk for three months. After all I’d been through—and was still going through—didn’t I deserve a four-dollar indulgence? After all, it’s not like I was walking into Georgette Klinger for a spa day.
I purchased a caramel latte and sat down at one of the wrought iron ice cream tables to enjoy my decadent purchase. I hadn’t taken more than three sips when Mama came storming out of Tiffany’s.
Damn. I’d really hoped I was wrong about Cleveland, but the expression on Mama’s face told me otherwise. She yanked out the chair opposite me and sat down. Instead of being on the verge of tears, anger colored her a frightening shade of red that clashed with her apricot suit. Her lips tightly clenched, her hands balled into fists, she didn’t say a word. I waited for her to gain control.
After about a minute, she took a deep breath, and the muscles in her face relaxed enough for her to speak. “That man!” She yanked Cleveland off her finger and slammed it onto the table. “And to think I believed him. ‘Don’t worry about anything, Flora. I’ll take care of you, Flora. You’re my delicate flower, Flora.’ Bullshit. All of it. Thank God I didn’t marry him.”
I picked Cleveland up and studied the ring. It certainly sparkled like a real diamond. If fakes could look as real as real, what made diamonds so damned expensive in the first place? “What did Tiffany’s say, Mama?”
“That Lou certainly didn’t buy my ring from them because they’d never sell a ring of such poor quality.”
“So it’s still a diamond? Not a fake?”
Mama snorted a loud harrumph. “A seriously flawed diamond. I looked at the stone through a jeweler’s loupe. My diamond is full of inclusions. The gemologist said stones like this are only sold at discount stores. Discount stores! The man bought me a Wal-Mart diamond and stuck it in a Tiffany box! If someone hadn’t already killed the cheap weasel, I’d do it myself.”
“I’m sorry, Mama.”
“Don’t be,” she said. “It’s Karma. What I get for almost marrying a man I didn’t love.”
“You had the best of intentions.”
“Of course, I did, dear. And I guess it all worked out in the end. Had I married him, I’d have been stuck with him.”
Given Mama’s track record, I seriously doubted that, but if Lou—and I noticed she no longer called him poor Lou—had lied to Mama about his net worth and really didn’t have much money, what would have happened had he lost his job? The last thing I needed in my life was another mooching relative. I guess poor Lou really had been poor Lou.
That didn’t explain his stock statement, though. I saw the figures. All eight of them lined up to the left of the decimal point alongside the words Total Assets. If Lou had that kind of money, why had he bought Mama a bargain basement diamond?
Mama picked up the ring and with a loud sigh, placed it back on her finger. “The jeweler said with all the inclusions, it’s probably not worth more than a few thousand dollars. At least that will make a small dent in your bills, dear.”
“Mama, the ring is yours. You don’t have to sell it to help me get out of debt.”
“I don’t want the ring. It’s a reminder that I nearly married a con artist. One of those in the family was more than enough. Whatever I get for it is yours. Consider it rent for the many times you put me up.”
Although I hadn’t thought of Karl as a con artist, I suppose that’s exactly what he’d been. After all, he’d certainly conned me into a false sense of security.
I leaned over and kissed the top of Mama’s head. “You’re welcome to camp out at Casa Pollack any time you want. Don’t ever think you’ve been a burden to me.”
“Unlike someone else?”
Now it was my turn to sigh. “I’m afraid I’m stuck with her.”
“Why?”
“Really, Mama, I can’t throw her out into the street.”
“That’s only because you’re too nice.”
“That’s me. Anastasia the Nice.” And because I was so nice, I offered Mama the rest of my caramel latte. Somehow I’d lost my taste for it.
_____
On the way home we got caught in a huge traffic jam as we approached downtown Westfield. I couldn’t tell how far the backup went because of the twists and turns of our route, but the road we sat on resembled a parking lot. Nothing was moving, and I had no place to turn off to detour around the mess.
“Must be an accident,” I said, turning off the engine to conserve gas.
“A bad one from the looks of things,” said Mama.
Every so often the traffic inched along in fits and starts. I’d turn the ignition key, inch up a car length or two, then shut down the engine to wait for the next creep-along session. We eventually made enough progress that I could see traffic being diverted left onto Broad Street. Normally that intersection is a no left turn. Whatever was going on, it must be blocking the T-intersection of Central and Broad, the main intersection in the heart of the downtown district.
Mama began to squirm, and I knew that could only mean one thing. I shouldn’t have been so generous with my latte. Mama’s bladder waits for no man—even traffic cops.
We were about a dozen cars back from Broad Street when Mama jumped out of the Hyundai. “The nearest restroom will be at Starbucks,” I said, knowing where she was headed without having to be told. “I’ll meet you at the back entrance.”
She nodded, setting off at a brisk pace. I hoped she made it the short distance without suffering a public embarrassment. As I continued to wait in traffic, I once again recited my prayer to the Internal Plumbing Gods, hoping I’d inherited my bladder from another family member and not from Mama.
Mama returned before I’d made it through the detour
around whatever was happening. She settled back into the car and said, “I figured you’d still be here when you weren’t waiting in the back parking lot. It’s not an accident.”
“So what’s causing the tie-up?”
“I think you’re going to have to see this for yourself, dear. I don’t want to spoil the impact.”
Mama had that Sylvester the Cat look about her, the one he always got after stuffing Tweedy Bird into his mouth. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll see.”
As we finally neared the intersection, I saw Officer Harley directing traffic. He started to wave the one panel truck and three SUVs ahead of me to turn left, then abruptly put up his hand, stopping the flow. He then pointed to me and signaled me to drive around the truck and SUVs. I hoped none of those vehicles contained people I knew because as I passed them, I sensed some very sharp daggers directed at me.
I drove up alongside Harley. “What’s up?”
“You’d better park your car, Mrs. Pollack.” He pointed toward Elmer Street. “Pull up behind that squad car.”
I knew not to worry that something had happened to Alex or Nick because no way would Mama sport such a satisfied look on her face. Her grandchildren meant the world to her. When I passed the truck and SUVs, I had glanced in my rearview mirror, trying to see what was going on, but because the panel truck and first SUV had started to make their left turn before Harley stopped them, they blocked my view of the intersection at Central and Broad.
I parked as directed, noting the presence of news vans from ABC, CBS, NBC, and Fox all parked farther down the street. Mama and I jumped out of the car and hustled back to where Harley continued to direct traffic. However, as soon as I reached the curb, I had a clear view of the blocked intersection and no need for any explanation from Harley or anyone else.
My mother-in-law had staged a walker-in!
Seventeen
Blocking the two crosswalks at Central and Broad stood all thirteen members of the Daughters of the October Revolution, six per crosswalk. Large red helium balloons that stated Pedestrians Have the Right of Way! in bright yellow lettering were tied to each of their walkers. Lucille and her comrades in crime must have been planning this little civil disobedience ever since Harley and Fogarty accused her of keying that BMW.
