“It’s too much,” James protested in the rental car on the way back to the city.
“It’s perfect,” Mindy said. “And you heard what the real estate agent said. Houses like this one never come up.”
“It makes me nervous, spending all that money. On a house. And it needs lots of restoration. Do you know how much that costs? Hundreds of thousands of dollars. Yes, we have the money today. But who knows what will happen in the future?”
Indeed, Mindy thought now, pressing the intercom button on her phone. Who knew? “Thayer,” she said, “could you come into my office, please?”
“What now?” Thayer asked.
Mindy smiled. She’d been pleasantly surprised by Mr. Thayer Core, having discovered that he was not only a crackerjack assistant but a fellow trafficker in evil, paranoia, and bad thoughts. He reminded her of her very own self at twenty-five, and found his candor refreshing.
“I need another hard copy,” she said. “In color.”
In a few minutes, Thayer returned with a printout of the brochure for the house. Mindy clipped the brochure to Lola’s two sex columns about James and placed a Post-it note on top on which she’d written, “FYI.”
She handed the stapled pages to Thayer. “Could you messenger this to my husband, please?”
Thayer flipped through the pages and, nodding in admiration, said,
“That ought to do it.”
“Thank you,” Mindy said, shooing him away.
Thayer called the messenger service to pick up the package. He slipped the papers into a manila envelope and, as he did so, emitted a little laugh. He’d ridiculed Mindy Gooch for months, and while he still found her slightly ridiculous, he had to give the woman credit. She had balls.
A couple of hours later, Mindy called James. “Did you get my package?” she asked.
James murmured a terrified assent. “Well, I’ve been thinking about it,”
she continued. “And I want to buy that house. Immediately. I don’t want to wait another day. I’m going to call the real estate agent now and make an offer.”
“Great,” James said, too scared to sound enthusiastic.
Mindy leaned back in her chair, curling the phone cord around her finger. “I can’t wait to get started on the renovations. I’ve got all kinds of ideas. How’s the new book coming, by the way? Are you making progress?”
In the penthouse apartment in One Fifth, Annalisa Rice studied the seating chart for the King David event, writing the numbers of various tables next to each name on the twenty-page guest list. It was, as usual, a tedious process, but someone had to do it, and now that she had replaced Connie Brewer as the chairman of the event, the duty fell to her. She suspected Connie hadn’t wanted to give up her position, but with Sandy’s trial coming up, the other members of the committee didn’t think Connie’s involvement was a good idea. Connie’s presence would remind people of the scandal involving the Cross of Bloody Mary, and instead of covering the event, reporters would write about the Brewers instead.
The gala was in four days and was expected to be even more spectacular than the year before. Rod Stewart was performing, and Schiffer Diamond had agreed to host the event. After Billy’s death, Annalisa and Schiffer had become close, at first finding solace in each other’s company and then seeing their mutual sorrow blossom into an actual friendship.
Being public figures, they found they had some things in common. Schiffer suggested Annalisa hire her publicist, Karen; meanwhile, Annalisa had introduced Schiffer to her crazy stylist, Norine. Lady Superior was on hia-tus, and Schiffer would often pop upstairs in the late morning for coffee, which they’d take on Annalisa’s terrace; sometimes Enid would join as well. Annalisa relished these moments. Enid was right — a co-op was like a family, and the antics of the other residents were always a source of gentle amusement. “Mindy Gooch finally took my advice and hired Thayer Core,” Enid reported one morning. “So we won’t have to worry about him anymore. James, meanwhile, is having an affair with Lola Fabrikant.”
“That poor girl,” Schiffer said.
“Mindy or Lola?” Annalisa asked.
“Both,” Schiffer said.
“Poor Lola, nothing,” Enid exclaimed. “That girl was a gold digger.
Worse than Flossie Davis. All she wanted was to live in One Fifth and spend Philip’s money.”
“Don’t you think you were a little cruel to her, Enid?” Schiffer asked.
“Absolutely not. One has to be firm with that kind of girl. She was sleeping with Thayer Core behind Philip’s back and in Philip’s bed. I suppose she’s like a virus — she keeps coming back,” Enid said.
“Why did she come back?” Annalisa asked.
“Sheer, misguided determination. But she won’t get far. You’ll see,”
Enid said.
Now, recalling this conversation, Annalisa found she couldn’t blame Lola for wanting to live in One Fifth. She, like Enid and Schiffer, loved the building. The only problem was Paul. Having heard about Schiffer and Philip’s engagement, he kept insisting she use her influence to get Philip and Enid to sell him their apartments, pointing out that Philip and Schiffer would need a bigger apartment, and wouldn’t Enid want to move as well? No, Annalisa replied. The plan was that Schiffer and Enid were going to trade apartments, then Philip and Schiffer would combine the two thirteenth-floor apartments into one. Then Paul suggested they move to a bigger apartment, to something in the price range of forty million dollars. To this, she’d also objected. “It’s too much, Paul,” she said, wondering where his rabid desire for the bigger and better would end.
They’d put the discussion aside when Paul briefly became obsessed with buying a plane — the new G6, which wouldn’t be delivered for two years.
Paul had put down a deposit of twenty million dollars but complained bitterly about the unfairness of life, because he was number fifteen on the list and not number one. His obsessions, Annalisa noted, were getting more and more out of control, and just the other day, he’d thrown a crystal vase at Maria because she’d failed to immediately inform him of the arrival of two fish. Each fish cost over a hundred thousand dollars, and had been specially shipped from Japan. But Maria hadn’t known and had left the fish sitting in their containers for five critical hours, during which time they might have died. Maria quit, and Annalisa paid her two hundred thousand dollars — a year’s salary — not to press charges against Paul. Annalisa hired two new housekeepers instead of one, which seemed to mollify Paul, who insisted the second housekeeper be on fish duty twenty-four hours a day. This was disturbing but paled in comparison to Paul’s attitude toward Sam.
“He did it,” Paul said one evening at dinner. “That little bastard. Sam Gooch.”
“Don’t be crazy,” Annalisa said.
“I know he did it,” Paul said.
“How?”
“He gave me a look. In the elevator.”
“A thirteen-year-old boy gave you a look. And you know he did it,”
Annalisa said, exasperated.
“I’m having him followed.”
Annalisa put down her fork. “Let it go,” she said firmly.