‘I shouldn’t, ’ the woman said.
‘Me neither.’
They grinned at each other companionably as they drew in smoke.
‘You living upstairs now?’ the woman asked.
She was tiny. Really tiny, like a miniature of a person, tiny even to Evie, who wasn’t that tall herself. She had a cute ugly little face, like a monkey, full of character, and she was dressed in layers of clothes like a refugee wearing everything she had one on top of the other, because she had no safe place to store anything she took off. Even the layers of clothing couldn’t camouflage how skinny she was, though, like a 12-year-old girl. On her feet were huge furry slippers, beaten about and faded so you couldn’t tell what colour they had been when new. They were much too big for her: they made her look like a hobbit, as if her feet were huge compared with the rest of her tiny frame.
‘I’m not really living up there, ’ Evie answered. ‘Just sort of camping out for a while.’
‘They friends of yours?’
‘I’m sort of seeing Lawrence, ’ Evie said. ‘Autumn’s definitely not a friend of mine.’
The woman pulled an expressive face.
‘Autumn isn’t that friendly to anyone, ’ she commented. ‘She’s always on at me about leaving our stuff in the hallway. Like it’s that big of a deal to walk round it.’
Evie remembered tripping over an enormous circle of metal in the hallway just yesterday, nearly smacking herself in the face with it, and privately she thought that Autumn had a point there. But the last thing she was going to do was take the side of the person who was trying to kick her out of the only place she had to live right now. Especially as this little hobbit was being nicer to her in the space of a few minutes than Autumn had been for the last week.
So she nodded sympathetically as the woman continued:
‘Plus, I sort of get the feeling she looks down on us, you know? Because we’re performers? I mean, what kind of dipshit attitude is that?’
‘You’re performers?’ Evie’s interest was immediately kindled. ‘No kidding. Me too.’
‘Oh yeah?’ The hobbit swept her with an up-and-down glance. ‘That your costume? What do you do, performance art?’
‘No, this is—’ Evie decided she wasn’t up to explaining why she was dressed up like a preppie uptown girl. She made a dismissive gesture with her cigarette, indicating that the way she was dressed had nothing to do with her life. ‘I used to be an exotic dancer. Pole work. But I’m sort of between jobs right now. I need to make a change. I’m just not quite sure how.’
She knew that gyrating on a pole in a G-string wasn’t quite what most people would mean when they said they were performers. But Evie took her work, and her technique, very seriously. To her, it was an art form like any other. It was just that you earned a lot more for pole dancing. Even if it was mostly in greasy bills.
‘You know, that’s really interesting, ’ the hobbit said, as friendly as ever. She stubbed out her cigarette in an old aluminium takeout tray wedged precariously into a space in the wall where a couple of bricks were missing. ‘I’ve always thought pole dancing’s pretty similar to the kind of stuff we do. Same sort of discipline, anyway.’
‘So what’s that?’ Evie asked, following suit with her own cigarette.
‘Trapeze, mostly. Some hoop work.’ She kicked the metal circle with her foot.
‘No shit! I’ve always loved watching trapeze!’ Evie exclaimed.
‘Yeah?’ The hobbit smiled at her. ‘You wanna come on in and see our setup?’
She turned and pushed open the big heavy door to her apartment. Evie followed her in, and the next second was gaping in astonishment. What was the kitchen, upstairs in Lawrence and Autumn’s apartment, was here an enormous studio. Two trapezes were suspended from the ceiling, one higher than the other. Against the wall, now with ropes attached to welded-on rings at its sides, was the hoop Evie had tripped against. The floor was covered in mats – bashed-around, fraying old blue gym mats, lightly padded. A stereo played sad, slow music, a Portuguese woman singing fado, and, hanging from one of the trapezes, balancing somehow on the tops of his feet, was a man.
Evie had seen trapeze before, but only from a distance, at the circus, or watching Cirque du Soleil on the TV. From far away, it all seemed magical, impossible, unreal: you oohed and aahed at the feats of the performers, but they moved so fast, you didn’t have time to take in every manoeuvre they made, how difficult it truly was. Seeing this man suspended like that, feet at right-angles to his legs just as if he were standing upright, the only difference being that his hair was hanging down below him, pulled by gravity, made Evie’s mouth sag open with disbelief.
He turned his head slightly, seeing Evie and the hobbit come in. Then he curled his whole body up, rising slowly, still hanging from his feet, till he was folded in two and his arms were reaching high enough up to grab the bar. And then he bent his knees, curled his legs into his chest, and let himself fall down to the mat.
‘That foot hang’s getting better, ’ the hobbit commented.
‘You think?’ he asked.
She nodded.
‘That must hurt like hell, ’ Evie said respectfully.
She looked down at his bare feet. Sure enough, there were two big red stripes where the bar had cut into him.
‘You get used to it, ’ he said.
‘She’s crashing upstairs, ’ the hobbit informed him. ‘Guess what? She’s a pole dancer.’
‘Cool, ’ he said, reaching out his hand so he could shake Evie’s. ‘I’m Jeremy.’
‘Evie, ’ she said, thinking that never in her life had she told people what she did for a living and had such easy acceptance from them.
‘So Evie, how’s life upstairs?’ Jeremy asked.
‘Not so good, ’ she answered, grimacing.
‘Autumn’s driving her crazy, ’ added the hobbit.
Jeremy turned to look at the hobbit, who raised her eyebrows and nodded.
‘You need to rent a room?’ he asked. ‘We just lost one of our merry little band. She went back to Germany today.’
‘Oh yeah, Waltraud, ’ Evie remembered. ‘I saw the scene outside.’
‘She was dating someone in the group, and they had a bust-up, ’ Jeremy said, reaching for a dented old stove-top kettle. ‘Tea?’
‘Um, sure, ’ Evie said. ‘Tea would be great . . . You’re sure she’s not coming back?’
‘She texted Laura from the airport, ’ the hobbit said. ‘Definitely got on that plane to Berlin.’
‘Laura’s her girlfriend?’ Evie asked, as Jeremy filled the kettle from a big plastic jerrycan of water.
‘Yup, ’ the hobbit said.
‘But didn’t they live together? I mean, in the same room?’
Jeremy twisted one finger in circles at the side of his head to indicate lunacy.
‘Waltraud had to have her own space, ’ the hobbit said, putting the whole sentence into invisible inverted commas.
‘It’s a nice room, ’ Jeremy said, lighting the gas hob. ‘Go look at it if you want.’
‘I’ll show you, ’ the hobbit said, leading Evie down the corridor.
It was a nice room, by the standards of the building. There was a big window, with curtains. The walls were of brick, not partition like Lawrence and Autumn’s upstairs. Plus, it had a proper bed, and some basic furniture: a cupboard, a chest of drawers, a table and chairs. The hobbit rather apologetically mentioned how much it would cost a month, and Evie’s eyes widened. A sum that tiny, she could totally afford. She would be free of Autumn and her grievances, living with a group of people who didn’t give a shit how she’d earned her living. Plus, she could still go up a flight of stairs and fuck Lawrence whenever she wanted – drive Autumn crazy without having to deal with her on a daily basis.
This was so much a comedown from her penthouse in the sky that it would have driven her crazy if she’d let herself think about it.
So she wouldn’t. Ever again.
‘I’ll
take it, ’ Evie said decisively.
She smiled at the hobbit.
‘I should know your name, ’ she said. ‘Since we’re rooming together. I’m Evie.’
‘Hi, Evie, ’ said the hobbit, reaching out a tiny little hand for Evie to shake. They were sweetly formal here, Evie thought. ‘I’m Natalie. Welcome to your new home.’
Chapter 13
Lola was still in pieces when the cab reached Madison’s apartment. The revelation that her father had had a mistress wasn’t what had upset her: if she’d thought about it, she wouldn’t have been surprised that her loving, affectionate father, having felt the lack of warmth in his emotional life, would have found someone to provide it. How he had ever chosen to live with, let alone marry, Carin, whose blood was ice water and whose idea of affection was a sharp slap round the face, was something Lola had never understood.
Lola could have comprehended a nice forty-something mistress, pretty, domestic, sympathetic, cosy, everything Carin was not. But this girl? Not only Lola’s age, but pretty much a dead ringer for her? It was horrible, shocking, unbearable. It made Lola sick to her stomach to think of it. Wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball on Madison’s soft-as-silk Signoria sheets from Italy, pop a sleeping pill, and pass out for a few hours of blissful release, Lola went into the Anhedonia building, nodding briefly at the doorman, who gave her a swift conspiratorial smile to indicate that he’d received the $100 and that her secret was safe with him.
Mirko wasn’t on the desk. Grateful at being spared having to exchange a couple of friendly words with him, Lola crossed the lobby and pressed the button for the lift. She was looking up, counting down the floors on the old-fashioned marker above the doors as the lift descended, when she felt a tug on her arm.
Alarmed, she swung around to see Mirko standing just behind her, a panicked expression on his usually imperturbable face.
‘Miss Lola – I’m so sorry – Miss Madison just called, ’ he muttered under his breath. ‘She’s coming into town late this evening. Flying in from London with a friend.’ He actually wrung his hands. ‘I’m really sorry.’
Which meant, of course, Lola realised, that he wasn’t going to give her fur wrap back.
‘I have to ask you to be out in a few hours, ’ Mirko continued, glancing over his shoulder as someone came into the lobby. But it was only a dog-walker, with five dogs in a tangled skein of leads: not a resident, nobody Mirko needed to smile at while making a friendly comment about the weather.
‘But what am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go?’ Lola’s voice rose dangerously high, and Mirko flapped his hands to tell her to keep it down.
Thinking fast, Lola waited until the dog-walker had managed to persuade her entire group of charges to enter the lift, and the doors were closing. Then she said quickly:
‘Isn’t there anyone else who’s away? Couldn’t you let me camp out in another apartment? I’ll be so quiet, you’ll hardly know I’m here . . .’
But Mirko shook his head.
‘I’m so sorry, Miss Lola – you see, most people don’t let me know when they’re getting back from their trips. Miss Madison, she’s very precise. Always calls first, so Rosalka can come in and do the clean and I can organise the florist. But there aren’t many residents who do that. I just can’t run the risk of someone coming back and finding you in their place. I’d get the sack for sure.’
‘But my wrap . . .’ Lola said faintly. ‘The $250 I gave you just this morning . . .’
Mirko avoided her gaze.
‘Hey, what can I say? A deal’s a deal, ’ he said. ‘We said I’d let you stay till Miss Madison came back, and you told me it’d be a few weeks yet. It’s not my fault she changed her plans.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Luis on the door, he’s already had his hundred bucks. I could give you back the other hundred for the night guy.’
It had cost Lola a sable wrap and $150 just to rent out Madison’s apartment for a couple of hours. She couldn’t believe her bad luck.
Lola’s whole body sagged in disappointment. She had been through so much in the past week that this was genuinely the straw that broke the camel’s back. Realising that girl had been her father’s mistress had completely overwhelmed her. She was completely out of ideas, completely out of any sense of hope.
‘You need to be out by four at the latest, ’ Mirko was saying anxiously. ‘You can give Rosalka the keys when she lets herself in.’
Lola stepped into a lift that was being vacated by a smart elderly couple, hearing Mirko’s apologies following her as the doors slid closed. Pressing the button, her head sank against the mirrored wall. What could she do? Where could she go? She still had about $25, 000 left, but that would vanish in no time if she had to pay for a hotel, her meals, her drinks . . . Vaguely, she realised that to most people, $25, 000 would have been a whole lot of money, more than enough to survive on for a few months. But Lola, as she had said to her mother, wasn’t most people.
Pulling her phone out of her bag, she dialled George Goldman’s number. When George’s secretary answered, Lola blurted out that she needed to speak to him urgently, immediately, and as soon as George came on the line Lola, fumbling for the keys to Madison’s apartment, said:
‘George! I need money, I’m really short of funds! And I need to see Daddy – I went there today, but that cow threw me out, if you can believe that, and I want to be able to visit him again! But right now, I really, really need some money—’
‘Whoah! Calm down!’ George said, as Lola managed to unlock Madison’s door and fall inside. ‘Look, Lola, honey, you have a strong case. But I don’t think you’ve quite realised what a slow process this can be.’
‘But if I have a strong case—’
‘You’d better sit down, Lola, ’ George said firmly.
Lola sank reluctantly into an armchair in the bay window. It had a wonderful view over the Hudson, but it might as well have been of a string of tenements in the Bronx for all the aesthetic value it had for Lola.
‘I’ve filed papers in Surrogate’s Court on your behalf, ’ George was saying, ‘to have Carin replaced as your trustee. We got plenty of grounds for that, believe me. Undue influence – that’s her inducing him to do something he normally wouldn’t have done. Conflicts of interest – well, that’s obvious. And we’re also arguing that he was incompetent to make the decision to change the trustee in the first place, because of his illness and the medication he was taking. Basically, we throw a ton of stuff at the wall and see what sticks.’
‘So Surrogate’s Court will decide if Carin can stay on as my trustee or not?’ Lola asked.
‘Hopefully, yeah, ’ George corrected her. ‘Legally, we have to start by filing papers there, because that’s the procedure when distributions from a trust are in question. But the actual outcome – what we want, a declaratory judgement saying that the power of attorney is invalid – that goes to the Supreme Court.’
‘The Supreme Court?’ Lola’s head span. Seven old people in black robes. ‘But that could take years!’
‘Oh, not that long.’ How could George sound so cheerful when he was giving her this horrendous news? ‘It’s the New York Supreme Court, honey, not the big one you’ve heard of.’
‘And what am I supposed to do for money in the meantime?’
‘Oh, ’ George said easily, ‘we’re applying for a temporary injunction to release payments to you from the trust fund, based on the fact that your father placed no limits on disbursements to you when he was, uh, in full enjoyment of his mental facilities.’
‘Really?’ Her heart lifted.
‘Yeah. Of course, Carin’s lawyers are fighting that too.’ He sighed. ‘They’re lining up people to testify that your dad said you were spending too much. Plus, they have some emails he sent Carin saying much the same thing.’
‘But Daddy never—’
‘Look, even if they don’t give you unlimited access to the trust fund, or appoint a new trustee, ’ George said reassuringly,
‘we should be able to get fifty grand out of Surrogates’ Court for you in a couple a weeks.’
‘Fifty grand?’
It sounded like a lot, but Lola had the awful feeling that it wasn’t at all. Not when she thought about paying for somewhere to live, all her usual expenses, eating out – and God, George’s billable hours would probably swallow that fifty grand up completely by now—
‘Will they give me that every month?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Oh, no. No, we need to keep making applications to the court, and that can take a while. No way we can guarantee how much they’ll decide to cut you on a regular basis, I’m afraid.’
In the turmoil of misery swirling around her, there was one thing that Lola could cling onto. And she did.
‘I need to be able to see Daddy, George, ’ she begged. ‘Can you sort things out so she has to let me in to see him?’
‘Now there we’re on ground I’m not sure of, ’ George admitted. ‘This isn’t my area. But sure, I know someone we can consult.’ He cleared his throat. ‘The only thing is, Lola . . . and I didn’t want to mention this to you before – after all, you’ve got a lot on your plate right now . . . but how much money do you have? I mean, this other attorney will want paying, and I’m racking up the hours myself . . . and, you know, I can wait awhile, I was very close to your dad, but eventually . . . well, I can make applications to Surrogates’ Court for my fees, and the other attorney’s too, and though the applications should go through OK – well, you know courts, nothing’s set in stone.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘So what I’m asking, honey, is, worst-case scenario, have you got the money to pay us? Or at least guarantee our fees?’
So that was the $25, 000 gone. Legal fees would eat up all the money she had left faster than her all-too-brief stay in Madison’s apartment. Curled up in the armchair, staring bleakly ahead of her, Lola faced her options. She had two choices: go back to England and stay at her mother’s – where at least she could live for free – until the battle for her trust fund was resolved. Or stay here, where she could – hopefully – visit her father every so often. That had to be the choice. There was no way she could leave New York, not while she had the chance of actually getting in to see her father.
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