by Mary Marks
“I wasn’t looking. Did you notice anything, Fanya?”
Her eyes widened. “I might have. I noticed a white Mercedes behind us on the off-ramp of the freeway. When we stopped at the valet stand in front of the hotel, I saw a white Mercedes park in the loading zone right behind us. Do you think it’s the same one?”
“What’ll I do?” Hadas moaned. “I’ve got to get out of here.” Her eyes welled with tears.
I tried to calm her down. “Surely, if someone followed us, they would’ve knocked on your door by now.”
“Not if they’re waiting for you to leave. You’ve got to help me escape without being seen. Find another safe place where Alexander can’t find me.”
“Why don’t you go to the police?” I asked.
“No!” Hadas raised the palms of both hands. “What do I tell them? I think my New York stalker has followed me to LA, but I have no proof, only a feeling? The police won’t do anything. I’m much better off dealing with this on my own.”
“Achalaria on him!” Fanya spat. “Where’s your sapphire, Hadas? And your hamsa. Did you remember to carry your charms?”
Hadas reached into the pocket of her dress and clutched a pouch similar to the one Fanya wore around her neck. “I’ve got everything you gave me right here.” She looked straight at me. “Remember, Martha, if Alexander does find me and I disappear, I’ll never be able to give Yossi the divorce you want.”
Point taken. “Okay. Clearly, we can’t take the chance Alexander knows where you are. We’ve got to find a way to smuggle you out of the Delaware.” I scanned the luxury suite, trying to figure out how. “Okay. I have an idea.”
They both stared at me.
“Hadas, order room service. Dinner for three. No, make it six. Dinner for six. Order several courses—soup, salad, entrée, and include at least three different wines and every kind of dessert.”
Hadas looked at me with mouth open. “Are you meshuga? What are we going to do with this much food?”
“It’s not the food I’m interested in. It’s the cart they’ll bring it on. A nice, big cart. Big enough for someone to hide in. Hadas, do you have a bathrobe I can wear?”
She looked me up and down and the corner of her mouth curled in a wry smile. “You can try, but it might be too small.”
The look on my face warned her to go no further. “Get it, please.”
She returned with a lacy little number made from pink silk. Hadas and I were about the same height. Except, she wore a size eight and I was several numbers beyond her.
“I see what you mean. Well, it’ll have to do.” I shrugged into the robe, the two halves refusing to close over my ample bosom. I left my clothes on because the front of me was completely exposed. “Hadas, give me a hundred-dollar bill.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Just do it!”
She disappeared into the bedroom and returned with a bill in her outstretched hand. “Here.”
“When the food comes, the two of you hide in the bedroom. Let me do all the talking.”
Forty-five minutes later, there was a knock on the door. “Room service.”
I motioned for the two of them to move out of sight. Then I looked through the peephole in the door. A server in a white uniform stood behind a stainless-steel cart with a top and a bottom shelf loaded with plates of food covered by silver lids to keep them warm. I unlocked the door and gestured for the woman to enter the suite. She rolled the cart over to the table, unfolded a clean linen tablecloth, and began to unload the dishes.
I waved my hands to stop her. “Please, leave everything on the cart. I’m not quite dressed and I need my privacy. I’ll call you when I’m ready for you to take everything away.”
She glanced at the coffee table with candy wrappers and an empty tube of Pringles. “Do you want me to clean this before I go?”
“No, no. Those are my appetizers. I’m not through with them yet.”
I waved the hundred in front of me and shoved it in her hand. When she saw Benjamin Franklin, she grinned and slipped it into her hip pocket. “My name is Arlene. Next time you need room service, ask for me.” She gestured toward the groaning food cart. “Are you expecting guests? I can arrange everything really nice on the table.”
Think fast! I can’t let her take the cart away.
“I’m so ashamed. My husband left me and I just can’t stop eating. You can see what it’s done to my figure. I used to be able to close this bathrobe. Please, can we keep this our little secret?”
As I walked her to the door, she stopped and turned toward me. “Men. You know, honey, this is LA. There’s a shrink on every corner. Maybe you need somebody to talk to.”
“Maybe.” I tried to steer her to the door, but Arlene wasn’t finished.
She lowered her voice. “I know how you can find great-looking guys who’ll show you a good time for a few of those Benjies. Make you feel good about yourself again. I can get a phone number. You know, discreet, like.”
I shook my head slowly. “I don’t think—”
“Okay. If you don’t want to pay, there’s always the cowboy bar on Ventura and Laurel Canyon in the Valley. Go after twelve. By then, everyone’s pretty hammered. Wear a low-cut blouse and watch ’em try to land on you like flies on honey.”
I opened the door. “Thanks, Arlene. You’ve helped me already. I mean it.” I put a finger to my lips. “Remember, our secret.”
Arlene walked toward the elevator, patting her hip pocket.
Hadas and Fanya came out of the bedroom, grinning. “You’re a really good liar, keinehora.”
I lifted the lid on one of the plates and discovered a cheese pizza. “Anyone hungry?”
Fanya grabbed a slice and began to chew. “Now what do we do?”
I took off the pink bathrobe, handed it to Hadas, and pointed to the bedroom. “Go in there and remove the sheets from the bed. Then pack whatever you can in your suitcase. You’re not coming back, so don’t leave anything important. Fanya, you can help me unload the cart.”
The two of us began to stack the covered plates of food, beverages, and place settings on the table. Every once in a while I peeked under a silver lid to see what smelled so good. By the time we finished emptying the cart, I’d sampled the lamb kebab, a spear of grilled asparagus, one pumpkin ravioli, and a bite of chocolate soufflé, still warm from the oven.
Fanya grabbed two steak knives. “These may come in handy.” She slid one inside her jeans pocket and offered me the other one.
“Whoa! I never figured you for a street fighter. Even if you do come from New York.”
“I trained in Krav Maga. It’s a kind of martial art originating in Israel. It makes sense for a woman alone to know how to defend herself. Having a weapon also makes sense.”
I’d really misjudged Fanya. Underneath all her superstitious behavior was a clearheaded pragmatist. I accepted the knife and put it in my pocket. Then I stepped into the bedroom to see how Hadas was coming along. A tangled mess of bedding lay on the floor.
She shoved her laptop in the open suitcase on top of the bed and brushed the front of her sky-blue dress. “I think I got everything.” She handed me the rumpled white sheets from the bed.
“Do you have anything besides skirts to wear? If it becomes necessary to run, you’ll be able to move much faster in trousers and flat shoes.”
“The only pants I have are my pajamas.”
“They’ll have to do. Put them on. What about flat shoes?”
“I brought a pair of loafers.”
“Hurry and change and meet us back in the other room.” I grabbed several towels from the bathroom, added them to the sheets, and rejoined Fanya in the living room.
Moments later, Hadas emerged from the bedroom, rolling her suitcase, dressed in pink-and-white striped cotton pajamas, a brown sweater, and brown penny loafers. “What’s the plan, Martha?”
“You’re going to sit on the bottom shelf of the cart, covered in the sheets. I’ll pile these other linens on the to
p shelf and take you to the ground floor. When we first came, I saw a door marked Housekeeping. Hopefully we can find our way to an outside door.”
“What about me?” In addition to the flashes of light in her eyes, Fanya’s cheeks bloomed red, a sure sign of excitement.
“You’re going to take the suitcase out the front door of the hotel and retrieve my car from the valet.” I handed her the claim check. “Keep your phone open. Once Hadas and I have left the building, I’ll let you know where we are and you can come and pick us up.”
“You’re brilliant. No wonder my brother loves you.” Fanya took the suitcase from Hadas and disappeared down the hallway.
Hadas sat on the bottom shelf of the cart and shivered a little. “This metal is cold.”
“Here. Sit on this towel. Now, bend your knees and wrap your arms around your legs. I’m going to wrap these around you.” I bundled the sheets around her until she was completely covered. I unfolded the rest of the towels and placed them in a lump on the top shelf of the cart. “Are you ready, Hadas?”
A muted “mfff moo” came out of the shapeless lump on the bottom shelf.
I pulled the sheets away from her head. “What did you say?”
“I said, thank you for helping me.”
“Really? Well, there is one thing you can do in return for my saving you.”
“What is it?”
“Get a divorce.”
I covered her head once again, wheeled the cart into the hallway, and took a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.”
CHAPTER 17
I pushed the cart with Hadas hidden inside through the empty hallway of the ninth floor. By the time I reached the bank of four elevators thirty yards away, a well-dressed couple appeared to be headed out for the evening. They dismissed my presence with one glance and carried on their conversation as if I were invisible. This must be what it feels like to be a servant.
The elevator bell dinged its arrival. I waited for the couple to enter before moving the cart toward the open steel doors.
The man frowned at my load of dirty linen. “Take the next car.”
As the doors began to close, she said, “What nerve.”
Soon, another elevator car arrived with a portly man aboard, holding his phone to his ear. He stepped out into the hallway and continued his conversation as he walked toward his room, stomach taking the lead. He never once looked at me or the cart.
So far, so good.
I rolled Hadas inside the empty elevator and punched a button for the first floor. We stopped on the way and picked up a group of three millennials on the fourth floor. Two young women and a man talked loudly and laughed as they entered the elevator. As soon as the doors slid shut, Hadas muffled a sneezing fit. I quickly raised the crook of my elbow to my face, as if I had sneezed into my arm. The three stopped talking and glared at me.
“Sorry,” I said.
The young man wagged his head. “Wear a mask, lady.”
Once we arrived on the main floor, I waited for the trio to leave and pushed the cart out of the elevators. I stood for a moment, trying to remember where I’d seen the door marked Housekeeping. As I swiveled my head, searching for the door, a man walked rapidly toward me. He wore a dark suit and a brass name tag identifying him as the assistant manager.
Oh crap!
“What do you think you’re doing on the main floor?” He pointed to the cart. “Get that thing out of here as fast as you can. And next time take the service elevators to the laundry.”
I would if I knew where it was. “I’m sorry. I—I’m new. I thought I was on the service elevator. Now I’m completely lost. Where is it again?”
He pointed to the far end of the hallway. “In the back, of course. You always use the freight elevator in the back, never the ones in front. These are for guests only. Clear? Clean linen and laundry comes and goes from the basement. Never the main floor, and never in the guest elevators.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
He looked at my T-shirt and frowned. “Where’s your uniform?”
Oh no. My heart sped up. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t have time to change into my uniform. I was told to hurry and get this.” I gestured with my chin to the mound of towels on top of the cart. Please, God, let him believe me.
“Louise sent you upstairs looking like that?”
“Uh, yes. Louise.” Please, God, make him go away. “Uh, I think you need to send someone to room six-twelve to clean the mess.” I gestured toward the sheets and towels on the cart. “This stuff came from there. A leak in the toilet, I think.”
He leaned in close and muttered, “I’ll deal with you and Louise later. Now get out of here. I don’t want to see your face again. Understand?”
“Yes, sir. I’m going. Sorry, sir.”
I began to push the cart toward the freight elevator in back when he ordered, “Wait!”
I stopped and turned toward him. Oh, dear God, please don’t let him stop us.
“What’s your name?”
Without missing a beat, I said, “Hadas, sir. Hadas Levy.”
“I’m going to keep my eye on you, Hadas.” He turned on his heel and walked toward the lobby.
I resumed pushing the cart to the far end of the hallway, increasing our speed as we went. A sign next to an elevator read Employees Only. I pushed the call button and heard the cables lifting the car from below. The doors slid open. I stepped inside, pushing the cart in front of me. “Okay, Hadas, we’re alone right now. Can you hear me?”
“Yeph” came a tiny voice inside the bundle of sheets.
“I have no idea what to expect when we get to the basement. Be ready to run for it if we have to.”
The doors slid open to reveal a much more spartan atmosphere; no painted ceilings, oriental carpets, or luxuriously upholstered sofas and chairs. The beige walls looked as if they hadn’t been painted in years. The bare floor was unapologetic concrete. Two women wearing yellow uniforms walked toward me, laughing and chatting.
When they were close enough, I said, “Excuse me, but I’m new here. Where’s the nearest exit? I need to go outside for a smoke.” I pantomimed holding a cigarette in my right hand and smoking.
“Can’t you read?” She pointed to a lighted EXIT sign above a door halfway down the corridor.
“Ah.” I smiled. “Thanks.”
I waited until they walked away and pushed the cart toward the exit sign and opened the door. Cold, night air hit my face as I stuck my head outside to see if it was safe to leave. The door opened to the back of the hotel. A small landing with a set of concrete steps led from the basement to the outside. Flattened cigarette butts littered the ground. On the street level, a truck with Gourmet Meats printed on the side slowly pulled away from the loading dock. A produce truck waited to take its place. It beep-beep-beeped as it slowly backed up to the dock to unload its cargo.
I stepped back inside the basement and threw the linen off Hadas. “It’s now or never. Let’s go!” She sprang off the bottom shelf and we both escaped through the door to freedom.
I climbed the stairs, practically dragging Hadas behind me. “Don’t let anybody see your face. Look down and walk fast.”
We threaded our way between trucks and parked cars and finally came to a street. We walked briskly along the sidewalk to a corner where we could read the street signs. I called Fanya on my cell phone. “We’re on the corner of Fifth and Olive. A block away.”
“I’ll find you,” she said. “I’ve got GPS on my phone. Let’s see . . .” She paused. “There you are. I should be there within five minutes.”
We ducked into the shadow of a locked doorway. “Get the hell outta my bedroom!”
My heart leapt. Hadas grabbed my arm and held on for dear life. I looked into the shadows to find a homeless man with a scraggly beard. He was curled in the fetal position against the door, wrapped in a filthy blanket.
We’d stumbled into the territory of one of the tens of thousands of homeless people living on the s
treets of LA. Without adequate services and shelters, most of them slept rough. The police were torn sometimes between compassion and enforcing the laws of the city. Chances were this man would be safe from eviction tonight if he remained quietly hidden in the shadows.
“Sorry,” I said. “We didn’t see you.”
He muttered an expletive and spat, barely missing my shoe.
We walked about ten feet away and waited for an anxious fifteen minutes until my future sister-in-law found her way through the maze of one-way streets. I almost shouted with relief when I recognized my little white Civic pulling over to the curb. I hurried Hadas into the back, while Fanya ran around the car to sit in the passenger side. I took my place in the driver’s seat.
“That was awesome!” Fanya twisted around to look at Hadas as she buckled herself in. “You okay?”
I also peered at our fugitive in the rearview mirror. Her arms were crossed in a full self-hug. “I’m cold and I’m hungry.”
She’s complaining? No thanks for saving her? Like she’s a princess and we are her servants?
Hadas looked into the rearview mirror and her gaze met mine. “Thanks.”
Well, okay. Maybe she’s not such a princess.
“Tell me how you escaped!” Fanya grinned and rubbed her hands together in anticipation. She laughed as Hadas described being able to hear but not see all our encounters. At the end of our story, Fanya asked, “Okay, now what, Martha? Where can we stash Hadas?”
“Hadas should hide in a remote environment, where nobody will think to look for her. I have a wild idea I hope will work. If my hunch is correct, the place we’re going to will be ideal.”
CHAPTER 18
We made our way through the freeway interchanges in downtown LA and ended on the 101 heading north. I told my passengers to let me know if they thought we were being followed. But all we could see in the darkness of night were hundreds of red taillights in front of us and just as many white headlights snaking by in the opposite direction.
As we approached Encino, Fanya asked, “Are we going to stop at the house? I could use a sweater.”
“Afraid not. This’ll have to do for now.” I turned on the car heater. “He might be watching the house, waiting to pounce on Hadas when we return. We’re going straight to the mountains of Ojai. I have friends who run a secluded retreat there. Mystical Feather.”
