“Before our break, I was talking about the merger, hmm, acquisition, and mentioned there’s one small glitch . . . actually two.”
25
As Luck Would Have It
On autopilot, Kassie drifted into the elevator and pressed lobby, even though someone else was a step ahead of her. She ignored the head-nod greetings of the three other occupants as she joined them for the ride down, instead fancying herself floating to the ground. If only she had an umbrella like Mary Poppins.
Acting managing director. Not full-on managing director. But she could live with that. Who knows what could happen after nine months? Nine months. She beamed as she stepped into the lobby, where the sun glared so bright she couldn’t see beyond the windows to the street.
Nine months, huh. Maybe this is the baby she was meant to have all along. It just took a lifetime for her miracle to happen.
Kassie signed out with the guard with a brisk “à bientôt” and spun around and headed for the exit, humming “Chim Chim Cher-ee.” For a brief moment, she stood on her tiptoes, still humming away, looking for Tanya. Not surprised by the coincidence as she got to the line in the song about luck, she spotted Tanya and her car to her right. Kassie waved with delight and picked up her pace. She couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel to tell Chris her news, confident he’d be thrilled for her. “What a fabulous opportunity for you,” she imagined he’d say. Of course, he wouldn’t miss the chance to rub it in that none of this would’ve happened if he hadn’t surprised her in Venice and whisked her away to Paris. Proving once again, he was her knight in shining armor.
It was because she stopped to retrieve her sunglasses from her purse, she didn’t see Chris climb out of Tanya’s car and grab clothing and shoes out of the trunk. Not until she was ten feet away did her eyes shift from the tall svelte blonde, whom Kassie had accepted as a beneficial yet annoying fixture in her life, to the handsome dude with his arms full.
“Well, hello there! To what do I owe this pleasure? What’s going on?” In one fell swoop, Kassie felt conflicted, excited to see him yet confused as to why Chris was standing there holding her Skechers in one hand and her gray travel pants and a shirt in the other.
“Are we going somewhere?” She leaned up to meet Chris halfway for a kiss.
“I’ll fill you in after you change. Go back inside. Here.”
“Always full of surprises, aren’t you?” She traded his journal for her clothes, did a pirouette, and obediently marched into the lobby.
“See,” she said to the guard, “I said I’d see you soon.” She held up her outfit, shrugged her shoulders, and asked if there was a ladies’ room in the lobby where she could change. He handed her a card with a code and tilted his head to the left.
“Merci!”
After Kassie changed, she passed the guard again and shouted “ciao,” immediately catching her mistake. “I mean, au revoir.” Smiling and shrugging her shoulders again, she made a mental note to have Vicki check which was better, Rosetta Stone or Babbel, for learning French PDQ. The faster the better.
This time as she approached the car and Chris and Tanya stood side by side in deep conversation, she could care less. It was her time in the sun, and nothing, no one, not even Tanya, could spoil it. Whatever adventure Chris had planned was bound to be educational, informative, and acclimate her more to Paris, her future temporary home.
Tanya held the rear door for Kassie while Chris put her dress, shoes, and so on in the trunk. She startled when he slammed it.
“How long will it take, Tanya?” Chris asked as he slid next to Kassie.
“To Charles de Gaulle, at this time of day? At least an hour.”
“The airport? Where are you whisking me off to now, Sir Lancelot?” Kassie smiled and hugged Chris’s arm.
“We’re going home.” He kissed her forehead, then whispered, “It’s Mike.”
26
Timing Is Everything
Still floating on a cloud an hour after she’d kissed Charlie goodbye, Karen cozied up on her rented couch and texted Mike not once but twice, giving him a heads up that she’d be at the house around six, depending on rush hour traffic. She sweetened the second message with “Dinner and . . . ?” hoping to get some kind of response from the big lug, though she had no intention of letting him anywhere near her that night, not until such time as the afterglow of Charlie faded.
He answered neither of the two messages. “What a jerk off,” she said to the commercial on the television she turned on just to fill the air with a human voice to replace Charlie’s. She missed the fun she’d had with him already. Charlie, she resolved, would be a good friend, with benefits, for her to keep close.
Inviting Charlie to her place wasn’t as risky as it might appear, given Chris lived across the atrium and up one floor. She knew he was on the West Coast with what’s her name? Oh yeah, Lexi. By the time he’d return from his vacation, Charlie would be long gone, big sigh, and she’d be back at Mike’s on most nights and weekends.
Nevertheless, Karen valued her privacy and when it came to her digital assets, distrusted Silicon Valley’s attempt at reassuring Americans—and the world, for that matter—that their secrets were safe with them.
Moving cross country forced her to expand her horizons in more ways than one. When Chris insisted she buy an iPhone before heading east, how could she say no? Her son actually made an overt attempt at showing he cared about her, even in the slightest way. There were no words to describe how tickled she was. Taking his lead, once she arrived in Boston, she marched herself for the first time into an Apple store—the one on Boylston Street—and took a bite out of it big time. Who wouldn’t? Like a kid in a candy store, she cast aside her fear of losing privacy and wanted it all, as was her wont.
An Apple Specialist in a royal blue T-shirt with a white Apple logo greeted Karen with a great big hello and smile. Knowing she was out of her element, Karen latched herself on to the young sales lady, or was it the other way around? The gal never released her ear-to-ear grin, as Karen reckoned she must’ve seen neon-green dollar signs flash nonstop across her forehead.
Karen might as well have pointed and said, “I’ll take one of these, and one of those,” as the sales rep escorted her from station to station. White box after white box piled up on the counter, and she rubbed the palm of her hand across each as if it contained something magical and was too precious to open. She handed over a credit card, and with a single swipe of the sales rep’s gizmo, Karen was the proud owner of the highest priced iPad, MacBook, Apple Watch, and their essential accessories. All compliments of one Michael Ricci, naturally.
Now sitting on her couch, Karen shrugged her shoulders and said, “What a waste,” as she held her iPhone, admitting the laptop and phone were her devices of choice. She rarely used the iPad or watch, still afraid to even turn them on, though she hauled them back and forth to Mike’s place, just in case he was curious about what he’d paid for. Curiouser and curiouser though to Karen was that Mike never asked her about the huge charge on his Visa card, apparently not seeming to care. The recurring itch of her scar hinted at the logical reason why.
The uptick of voices coming from the direction of the ferry dock told her the day was getting long, and she ought to get a move on. She bolted upright. She hadn’t heard from Mike all day. Not a good sign. By now he’d have talked with Bill. He had to know that she’d lied about the tickets. I bet he’s pissed. She paced twenty steps into the bedroom and back into the living room again about a dozen times, trying to come up with an excuse for her little indiscretion Saturday night.
If she was going to fulfill her pledge to get more than a fair share of what she believed was rightfully hers, she’d better suss out the situation to make sure she remained in Mike’s good graces. Where to start? She collapsed on the couch and chewed her pinky nail. Think, damn it.
If she’d learned anything from working at Ricci and Son the last year, it was sports analogies. Before she’d moved to Boston, her frien
ds in Elephant Butte had warned her about the insufferable Boston sports fans. They were right. Especially Monday mornings at the office when her lazy coworkers would spend at least the first hour of the day dissecting ad nauseam every play of every game and second-guessing every coach’s decision. So that’s what Monday morning quarterbacking means.
Of course, Karen hung out in the kitchen for the play-by-play even though she rarely added to the chitchat, let alone understood a thing they babbled about. To her, eavesdropping was mandatory to her cause, never knowing when something she heard might come in handy when she least expected.
Take the Monday morning after a Red Sox defeat. Karen walked smack dab into a heated debate about the meaning of “the best offense is a good defense.”
“Aren’t they both equally important?” she asked, resparking an argument that started with its meaning in sports and concluded with Chris expounding on the writings of George Washington during the Revolutionary War.
Now, as she sat contemplating what she’d gotten herself into with Mike, she reasoned it would be a good time to test how much that old adage held water. She’d go on the offensive, state her case before Mike had a chance to challenge her. But she had to think it through, be deliberate, not muck it up. She’d have only one chance to get it right.
Karen rifled through three kitchen drawers before she found a pen in one and paper in another. Never a problem at Mike’s, where Kassie had stocked every room with ample office supplies, even the bathrooms. Mulling over that thought, she slammed the drawers shut, rattling the cabinet below as well as her cage. Whatever glow lingered from Charlie withered.
After a few meager attempts at crafting a message for Mike, she settled on the following:
“Hi M. By now the cat’s out of the bag. Don’t blame me. Bill was a prick 2 me Sat. Once u hear my side, I’m sure u’ll c he didn’t deserve tix. Tell him 2 treat me w/respect. After all, if not 4 me . . . ”
Five times she reread her masterpiece. After she keyed it in, she added a smiling emoji and sent it. Then she sent one more text letting his fat fingers off the hook, telling him he needn’t respond; she’d be there soon.
If she could pat herself on the back, she would. Sheer brilliance, reminding him of the role she played as his lifesaver, his guardian angel. Her act would never get old. “Look out Broadway, here I come.”
Turning down Mike’s street, it wasn’t the lights of Broadway that welcomed Karen. Instead, an ambulance with flashing lights blocked the top of Mike’s driveway behind a car she vaguely recognized, and a police cruiser with rotating blue lights was parked on the street. A police officer, directing what little traffic there was, stopped her from turning into the driveway.
“Are you related to the gentleman who lives at this address?”
“Yes, well, no. Kind of. What’s going on, officer?”
“Can’t let you pull in there and block the ambulance. Best you make a uey and pahk over there, across the street.”
Under normal circumstances, Karen would shake her head at the officer’s Boston accent and lingo, but she sensed whatever she’d driven into wasn’t normal.
Neither was the scene inside the house. As she crossed the lawn and entered the wide-open front door, Karen fought her way past a collapsible wheeled stretcher and into the family room. She gasped, wrapping her right hand around her throat. Visions of her late husband, Barry, in a body bag after the ski patrol dashed him off the mountain nearly made her faint.
But then she saw that bitch, Amelia, holding Mike’s hand as he reclined in his Barcalounger. Well, at least he’s alive. Thank God.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Karen directed her question seemingly to no one in particular, but clearly aimed it at Amelia.
“Give us some space here, ma’am. You’ll need to go into another room until we move Mr. Ricci out.” One of the two EMTs, a lady with a ponytail, chose to answer.
“Excuse me? What about her?” Karen tilted her chin toward Amelia.
“If it wasn’t for Amelia, we may not have made it here in time,” the other EMT piped up.
“Okay, I’m confused. Why are you here?” Karen pointed at Amelia, not giving her the same first-name-basis courtesy as the EMT.
“Take her away,” Mike said, his weary eyes gazing at Amelia but his head tilting in Karen’s direction.
“Take me away? Some nerve,” Karen grumbled as she felt Amelia’s hand on her elbow, leading her toward the kitchen. “Don’t touch me,” she said, gritting her teeth, repossessing her arm.
Once in the kitchen Karen fell back against the counter near the sink, folded her arms across her body, and glared at Amelia. “I. Want. An. Explanation.”
The lady EMT interrupted. “We’re ready to take Mr. Ricci to the hospital. He wants you to come with him.”
“Right. I’ll get my purse out of the car,” Karen said.
“No, ma’am. Not you. He wants Amelia.”
“Give me just a second. Let me get my mother.”
Karen slapped the palms of her hands on her thighs and then up in the air. “What is this? A three-ring circus? Did I miss a party or something?” She followed Amelia into Kassie’s office, where a small woman got up from the desk chair as they entered.
“No circus. We came to help Mr. Mike.” The woman clasped her hands together as if she was praying.
“And you are?” Karen barely had the words out when Amelia introduced her mother, Teresa. “Oh, yes, Mike’s cleaning lady. Can’t imagine why we haven’t met before?”
All Karen could think of was Mother Teresa, but this woman was neither dead nor a saint if she was Amelia’s mother.
“How did you get here?” Karen barked.
Amelia rattled her car keys in the air and said she’d send an Uber to take her mother home.
“My mother will explain everything,” she said as her mother hugged her and prayed to the ceiling again.
And just like that, Amelia was gone, leaving Karen staring at Teresa, who was almost on the verge of tears.
“Now, don’t you cry. Tell me what’s going on.”
So Teresa began at the beginning. “We was, Amelia and me, up the street cleaning the Millers’ house. You know the Millers? Big red house with white shutters. Two dogs. One little shedder and one big drooler. Hard to keep clean. Those dogs. Once a month Amelia comes to help. Makes it easier on me.”
“I don’t know the Millers or their dogs.” Karen shook her head.
“Good thing, don’t you think?”
“What?”
“That Amelia was with me. Or that I was with her. Haven’t figured that out yet. Working on it, though.”
“Whatever. Why good?”
“We was almost done for the day when Mr. Mike called Amelia to come by quick. And I have a key.” Teresa dangled the key in front of Karen’s face, close enough for her to read the tag: Kassie and Mike Ricci.
Standing there, in Kassie’s office, and seeing her name made Karen’s eyes blink fast. “Let’s move to the family room, if you don’t mind.”
On a roll, Teresa followed Karen, explaining to her how she and Amelia hustled right over to the house. “Mrs. Miller was so nice. She told us not to worry about finishing cleaning. She’s so nice. You should meet her someday.”
“We’ll see about that. Then what happened?”
“Oh my, Lord Jesus,” Teresa cried out as they entered the family room. “I must clean this up right away. Will you help me, Miss Karen?”
Besides the furniture slung every which way, a pedestal end table and floor lamp angled on their sides, slick magazines lay scattered by the fireplace, an empty plastic water bottle rested atop a soaked Boston Globe, and a photo album lay open on the coffee table. Like the north side of a magnet, Karen was drawn to the photo album. A young Mike, the man she fell for decades ago, feeding cake to an even younger Kassie, stared back at her. She banged the book shut and in one motion flung Our Wedding like a Frisbee across the family room, barreling into the magazi
nes Teresa had just picked up, knocking them out of her arms, just missing her chin.
“What are you looking at?” Karen mumbled as she picked up all the magazines and slid them into a magazine rack, then whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Teresa nodded as she gathered the wet newspaper and headed to the garage.
“Wait, there’s more trash.” Karen moved back to the coffee table and scooped up small pieces of torn paper. The front doorbell rang. “You go.” She motioned Teresa toward the garage. “I’ll answer it.” Holding shreds of red, white, and blue, she opened the door as the bells on the doorknob clanged.
“Where is he? I came as soon as I could. I was in a meeting downtown when he called.”
“Oh, hi, Bill. He’s gone.”
27
Nobody Loves Me
Karen tsk-tsked at Bill, his eyes the size of dinner plates. “Mike’s not dead, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s gone, as in on his way to the hospital, which is where I’m heading. Come in for a minute, if you must.”
Bill hurried, lock-step behind Karen, into the family room that was beginning to look somewhat put back together. He pumped her with questions she couldn’t answer. What happened? Is he going to be okay? Are they sure it’s a heart attack? Maybe it was something he ate?
Karen felt a migraine coming on, and she didn’t get migraines. Bill went on and on about how once he’d rushed Nancy to the hospital in the middle of the night thinking her heart was about to explode, when it was just a gallbladder attack from a fatty steak. What did Mike eat on the Cape?
“Lobster.” Her claws stayed tucked in her pockets.
“I wish I’d taken his call. Damn it. I could’ve been here.”
“That’s great. Seems he called you first, then Amelia.”
“Not you, eh?”
“I’m sure he tried. I was on my way here. I don’t answer my phone when I’m driving.” Still on offense, Karen didn’t have to check her phone to see if Mike had called. She knew he hadn’t, and she knew why.
What's Not True Page 17
