“My God…I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
“Thank you.” He bowed his head, as if lost in memory.
I touched his hand. He didn’t move. We stayed that way—with my hand on his—for quite a long time. We didn’t say a word. He didn’t look at me.
“Any time you want to talk about it—” I said at last.
“I don’t,” he said firmly, withdrawing his hand. “Don’t tell anyone. Please.”
“No. I promise. Cross my heart.”
“So…You satisfied now?” I nodded. “Good. We still friends?”
“Friends,” I assured him.
We shook hands. He stood up abruptly, fished in his pocket, and took out a twenty-dollar bill for the check. He slapped it on the table and said, “Seeya when I seeya.”
After Gunner left, I sat for a while, thinking about what he’d said. My own dumb romantic problems paled in comparison with his sorrows. I thought about the miseries people conceal and how they manage to survive. Gunner’s revelation explained his odd combination of intensity and detachment. I got an insight into why he liked that book. Discipline is the key to coping with a personal tragedy of such magnitude; otherwise your sanity might gallop away. That book taught you to harness your mind, to control it, no matter what evils assailed it.
I think that was the very first time I felt a real connection to Gunner. I knew I’d never say anything about this, not even to Violet. This didn’t feel like gossip or idle speculation or something we could joke about. It felt heavy and ominous, like some great big chunk of darkness.
Chapter 25
When I got back to the shop, Rosina told me that Ms. Fisk, Cynthia’s secretary, had called.
“The Trailblazer wants to see you this afternoon,” Rosina said.
“That’s too goddamn bad. I’m not going. I feel too rotten. Anyway, I just saw her.”
Rosina then used her tried and true powers of persuasion: she fanned a handful of bills in front of me.
“She owes you a lotta money. You better go pick up a check.”
I forced myself to go, even though I was still mightily upset about Bob. I now had to add him to the long line of charismatic miscreants I always seemed to wind up dating. How could I keep getting it so wrong, time after time after time after time? Was it just that the pickings were so slim that the only guys left were fatally flawed? Or—God forbid—was it me?
Bob was gone, but there was still hope that Grant might be saved from the clutches of the Trailblazer—with my help.
The offices of the Cynthia A. Rinehart Foundation were located on the ground floor of one of those ornate old mansions along Embassy Row. I’d never been there before, even though I’d been working for Cynthia for nearly five months. The décor, bland and modern, featured one of those Walls of Narcissism, as I call them, where people hang pictures of themselves posed with every celebrity, politician, or billionaire they’ve ever met or been in close proximity to. “To Cynthia Rinehart, with admiration and blah, blah, blah.” Signed, Famous Person. Actually, the wall was pretty damn impressive considering how short a time she’d been on the scene. I was amazed at how quickly money had purchased her so many high-powered friends.
Smack in the center of this ego collage was a picture of Cynthia with Grant, the unknown soldier of the group. I remember the moment it was taken at the Golden Key dinner. She was hanging a key around his neck like it was a leash. He looked like a startled owl. It was the only unsigned picture in the bunch.
When Ms. Fisk introduced herself to me, I thought, This can’t be the Ms. Fisk I’ve spoken to umpteen times on the phone, arranging deliveries and bill payments and all the other stuff for the house Cynthia couldn’t be bothered with. That Ms. Fisk had a crisp linen voice that I imagined belonged to a sleek, cool, and tailored sort of person. This Ms. Fisk looked like a chaotic troll with thatched hair, a squat physique, and a truckload of attitude.
“This way, please,” she said, opening the heavy oak door to Cynthia’s office.
Cynthia was sitting behind her desk, and she was not alone. Grant was standing behind her like a concrete stanchion. I wanted to lash out at him for nearly wrecking my friendship with Violet, but instead, I swallowed my anger and said a warm hello to both of them. I acted especially pleased to see him, thinking of the big picture: Operation Mary Lou.
“So, did Nouria get that fabulous dress?” I said brightly to Cynthia, hoping to get off to a friendly start.
She glowered at me without replying. Grant didn’t say a word. The two of them stared daggers at me. Cynthia motioned me to sit down like she had a scepter in her hand.
“I’m not one to beat around the bush,” she began.
“Wait, please,” I interrupted her. “I think I know what you’re going to say, and I just want you two to know something first, okay? I don’t blame anyone in this situation. This kind of thing happens. I don’t think people should take sides at this point. In fact, I told Violet that she just has to deal with it now.” I shook a teasing finger at Grant. “You were very naughty to tell her I came to see you.”
He shifted uncomfortably from one leg to another, but remained silent.
I continued. “I also told her that it’s impossible to legislate feelings, and there’s no point in trying to hold on to someone who doesn’t want to be with you. She got very angry at me, and the upshot is we’re no longer speaking. I just thought you’d like to know.”
I waited for a response. Neither of them moved.
“So, to make a long story short,” I went on, “I’m really looking forward to finishing the house, Cynthia. I thought it was important that you know that whatever has happened in other areas will not affect my professional commitment to you, because I basically consider all this none of my business.”
They still didn’t move. Their silence was daunting.
“So, um, I’ll need a check today, if that’s okay. We’re a little overdue.”
“Well, Dream Girl,” Cynthia began, “I’m very sorry to hear about you and Violet, because Violet’s gonna need all her gal pals right now. And we very much appreciate your candor and your understanding, don’t we, darlin’?” She glanced up at Grant. He blinked but said nothing. She went on. “However, I find it curious that two women who aren’t speaking to each other are going shopping together, because I have always been of the opinion that when women shop, they talk.”
I was flummoxed, but I managed a weak comeback. “Well, uh, this just happened. Actually, it happened right after I saw you in Dior. Violet and I had a big argument on the way home in the car.”
Cynthia smirked. “Nice try. But I will no longer be requiring your services. Ms. Fisk will give you your check. By the way, I’ve deducted twenty thousand dollars from the bill.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you’ve made mistakes in the house, that’s why.”
“Are you serious? What mistakes?”
“I don’t have people working for me whose mistakes I have to bring to their attention. People who work for me bring their mistakes to my attention before I get wind of them. That’s how I know they’re working for me and not against me. You’ve made mistakes. There’s no point in arguing. You’re fired.”
I usually insist on half the money upfront when I order an item, to cover my cost. But I’d been tolerant about late payment from Cynthia because it was such a big job and I figured she was good for it. Now she was stiffing me. I was livid. I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. I challenged her to tell me exactly what mistakes she thought I’d made, but she refused. I told her I was going to sue her if she didn’t pay me all the money she owed me. She dared me to. We got into a shouting match. She finally stood up and walked out of the room, telling Grant, “Handle this for me, darlin’. I have a meeting at the Kennedy Center.”
She slammed the door behind her. I couldn’t believe it. I just stood there with my mouth agape. Finally, I said to Grant, “What the hell are you doing with that sociopath?”
“You think anything over a dollar-fifty is an obscene amount of money. You’re the cheapest man alive!”
Grant was irrationally stingy. I suspected that Rainy Bolton had hung a sign on his balls when he was a kid that read, “Whosoever takes your money, takes these too.”
“I’m a banker. I know the value of a dollar,” he said.
“Listen, twenty thousand dollars is nothing to her. But to me it could mean the difference between salvation and purgatory. I’ll sue her! I will!”
This was an idle threat, of course. How could I afford a lawsuit, when I could barely afford next month’s rent?
“I don’t know what to tell you, Reven.”
I started pacing around, vowing not to go gentle into the bankruptcy night.
“Fine! If she wants war, she can have it. I’m not without friends in this town. I’ll get the word out about her, trust me.”
“I think I should warn you, Reven. Cynthia is revered in this town. You’d be unwise to challenge her. Just take a look at some of the people on her board.”
Grant was right. Cynthia had collected an impressive list of board members, especially the venerable old Senator Pomador. The diverse group of distinguished men and women had been chosen for their impeccable reputations and sterling credentials in order to create an aura of irrefutable probity for the Rinehart Foundation. Still, I persevered.
“Grant, you’ve known me for more than twenty years. Are you going to take her word over mine?”
Grant crossed his arms in front of him and refused to answer. His WASP heritage had armed him with formidable abilities to stonewall.
“You just better wonder what other lies she’s told you. Maybe she hired me because she knew she could stiff me. Ever think of that? Maybe she never had any intention of paying me what she owes me because she knows damn well I can’t fight back.”
“It’s not like she can’t afford to pay you. She is simply morally outraged that you would take such advantage of her because you thought she didn’t know any better.”
“Please! Save the moral outrage for war and global warming, will you? And anyway, that’s not true! I dare anyone to go into that house and show me what mistakes I’ve made!”
Grant’s face twitched like he was trying to keep from erupting into a rage. He hadn’t changed much in all the years I’d known him. He had been blessed with strapping, wholesome looks that had weathered well. He looked like an aging boy. Yet there was a new hint of cruelty in his expression, brought on, I suspected, by the selfishness of lust.
“What’s happened to you, Grant? You used to love Violet. And I thought you cared for me as a friend. What is this woman’s hold over you that you’ve changed so radically? You used to be a pal.”
“No, I used to be a doormat. No more! Let me tell you something, Reven. People have underestimated Cynthia her whole life—just like they’ve underestimated me. I’ve always done what people said I had to do, what was expected of me, instead of what I wanted to do. Your life goes down the drain in tiny drips when you live like that. Before you know it, you’re all dried up. Cynthia’s taught me not to wait for the ax to fall. You have to deal with people who stand in your way, not knuckle under to them.”
Though Grant sounded like he was talking to himself, trying to justify leaving Violet, I suddenly understood the true nature of his relationship with Cynthia. Sure, it was about sex. But I could just hear Cynthia preying on Grant’s insecurities by comparing them to her own. I imagined the in-depth postcoital discussions about how much alike they were, how misunderstood, underappreciated, and unsung—until they hooked up. A Georgetown Bonnie and Clyde. Separately, they were nothing; but together, they were a powerful entity—the “We’ll show them as lovers united against the world” form of courtship. I was beginning to understand just how cunning Cynthia was.
“Grant, listen to me, you’re one of my oldest friends. I love you, and I love Violet, and—”
He interrupted me. “Yes. Some people say you and Violet love each other too much.”
I just shook my head in disbelief. It was such a ridiculous accusation—one that simply never would have occurred to Grant’s pea brain had not some malicious little birdie been a-whisperin’ in his ear. Grant’s prudish outlook on sex had always mirrored Queen Victoria’s when she declared that carnal love between two women simply didn’t exist.
“Who is putting these nutty ideas into your head, Grant? As if I didn’t know.”
“You know, Reven, I’ve defended you up, down, and sideways in this town, but no more.”
“Defended me?”
“That’s right—defended you. Everyone knows you overcharge. Your shop is twice as expensive as the other shops in Georgetown.”
“That’s a lie! I decorated your bank practically at cost, for Christ’s sakes. You were thrilled with me then…. Wait!” I cried, pointing at him. “Did you tell Cynthia I saw you two together in the house that day?”
“No,” he said unconvincingly.
“Oh, my God, of course you did! You told her. And from that moment on, she’s been working on you, figuring out ways to discredit me. Isn’t that so? Well? Isn’t it?”
Grant handed me the check. “You better take this now and leave, or else you may find yourself in a lawsuit.”
It was no use. They had me over a barrel, and they knew it. I grabbed the check and got out of there fast, convinced more than ever that a man in lust is a man in peril.
I went straight back to the shop and ordered Rosina to pull up all of Cynthia’s bills.
“What happened?” she asked me.
“She fired me.”
“Aiyaiyai.”
I handed Rosina Cynthia’s check. She looked at it and made a face. “Only thirty thousand dollars? She owes us at least fifty.”
“I know. But it’s all we’re going to get from her.”
Rosina shrugged. “That’s how the rich get richer…. And it’s a check this time so we have to wait until it clears.”
“Let’s hope it does clear.”
I suddenly thought of Senator Grider, remembering he’d asked me how Cynthia had paid her bills.
“Rosina, how did Ms. Rinehart pay us? Was it by check, bank transfer, what?”
“Always bank transfers. This is the first check.”
“You’re sure?”
Rosina looked at me like I’d insulted her. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“What bank?”
“The Potomac Bank.”
“Natch! That’s how she wormed her way in. Let me see that check.”
I took a closer look at the check. It had her name, Cynthia A. Rinehart, printed across the top. “I’ll give this back to you later. I want you to go through all of those bills and make sure she doesn’t owe us even more money. I’ll be in my office if anyone wants me.”
“You’re sure you want your creditors to know where you are?” Rosina joked.
I went upstairs to my office and found Senator Grider’s card. I was ostensibly going to inform him how Cynthia paid me, but my real mission was to let him know that she’d stiffed me for twenty thousand dollars. He was a powerful man. I wanted powerful people to know what she had done to me. I rang the number on the card and got through to a skeptical aide. I left a message for Grider to call me. Before I had a chance to go back downstairs and give Rosina Cynthia’s check to deposit, the phone rang. It was Grider himself.
“Want that tour of the Senate I promised you?” he said.
“No, actually, Senator…You remember at the British Embassy, you asked me how Cynthia Rinehart paid me?”
“Yup.”
“Well, she just fired me.”
“Thought you were decorating that castle of hers.”
“I was, but no more. It’s a long story, but
I wanted you to know that my assistant Rosina says that she always paid by wire transfer from the Potomac Bank. I’m sitting here with the only check she’s ever given me—the kiss-off check that she handed me today. It’s a personal check. Her name’s on it. It supposedly covers my expenses to date. All except twenty thousand dollars.”
“What happened to the twenty thousand?”
“You’ll have to ask her.”
Grider paused. “You’re saying she stiffed you for twenty thousand dollars?” he asked.
“Well, I hate to tell tales out of school, but that’s what it looks like. It may even be more. Rosina’s checking her account as we speak.”
“Awful sorry about that.”
“Not nearly as sorry as I am.”
“You might want to sue her, though I don’t recommend it. More trouble than worth, lawsuits.”
“The fact is, I can’t afford to sue her, and she knows that. I’m afraid there’s a lot of personal animosity here. She ran off with my best friend’s husband, and who knows, this may be a kind of indirect revenge. This is more than you want to know, of course. But you did ask me about her method of payment, and it was wire transfers.”
“’Cept for that personal check.”
“That’s right.”
“Thank you for that information.”
“You’re very welcome.
“Good-bye for now.”
He hung up so abruptly I was surprised. I thought Grider sort of liked me. Guess not. I guess he really was only interested in Cynthia after all.
I went downstairs, handed Rosina the check, and went straight to Violet’s house to inform her that our little plan wasn’t going to work.
It was an unseasonably mild day. Violet was in the garden, repotting some plants. She looked like a real hausfrau in a heavy sweater, a utility apron, and a bandana. When I came outside, she said, “I should probably just let them die, dontcha think?”
“Cynthia fired me.”
“You’re kidding.”
She clapped the dirt off her hands, took off her apron, and led me inside to the sunporch. She got us ice waters, and we settled in so I could tell her the whole story. I told her nearly everything, including how Cynthia had stiffed me for twenty thousand dollars and how I’d told Senator Grider. When I mentioned that Grant was there, she just snickered, but I knew she felt real anguish. She looked like she’d aged about ten years in the space of days. I figured I’d spare her the worst of it—namely, Grant’s insane accusation that she and I were more than friends.
Mortal Friends Page 18
