One Fifth Avenue (47 page)

Sandy Brewer wasn’t the only person in the blogs. James Gooch was as well. Someone had taken a cell-phone video of James during his reading at Barnes & Noble and posted it on Snarker and YouTube. And now the hoi polloi were attacking James for his hair, his glasses, and his style of speaking. They were calling him a talking vegetable, a cucumber with specs. Poor James, Billy thought. He was so meek and mild-mannered, it was hard to understand why he could possibly be worth the negative attention. But he was successful now, and success was its own kind of crime, Billy supposed.

A few minutes later in midtown, Sandy Brewer, bloated and in a foul mood from the amount of alcohol he’d consumed the night before, strode into Brewer Securities, grabbed the soft basketball from the chair in his office, went into Paul Rice’s office, and threw the basketball at Paul’s head. Paul ducked. “What the fuck, Rice? What the fuck?” Sandy screamed. “Twenty-six million dollars?” The blood rushed to his face as he leaned across Paul’s desk. “You’d better make that money back, or you’re out of here.”

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With Philip away in Los Angeles, Thayer Core was having a grand old time hanging out in Philip’s apartment, drinking his coffee and red wine and occasionally having sex with his girlfriend. Thayer was far too self-centered to be particularly good at sex, but every now and then, when she let him, he would go through the motions with Lola. She made him wear a condom and sometimes two because she didn’t trust him, which made it much less exciting but was made up for by the thrill of doing it in Philip’s bed. “You know you don’t love Philip,” Thayer would say afterward. “Of course I do,” she’d counter. “You lie,” Thayer would say. “What kind of in-love woman has sex with another man in that man’s bed?” “It’s not really sex with you and me,” Lola replied. “It’s more something to do when I’m bored.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“You don’t expect me to fall in love with you, do you?” Lola would ask, screwing up her face in distaste, as if she’d just eaten something unpleasant.

“Who’s that young man I always see coming into the apartment?”

Enid asked Lola one afternoon. She’d popped in to borrow a cartridge for her printer. She was always “borrowing” Philip’s office supplies, and Lola couldn’t understand why Enid didn’t go to Staples, like everyone else. “You know, you can order supplies online,” Lola said, crossing her arms.

“I know, dear. But this is much more fun,” Enid said, pawing through Philip’s stuff. “And you didn’t answer my question. About the young man.”

“Could be anyone,” Lola said nonchalantly. “What does he look like?”

“Tall? Very attractive? Reddish-blond hair and a disdainful expression?”

“Ah.” Lola nodded. “Thayer Core. He’s a friend of mine.”

“I assumed he was,” Enid said. “Otherwise, I can’t imagine why he’d be spending so much time in Philip’s apartment. Who is he, and what does he do?”

“He’s a gossip columnist. Just like you,” Lola said.

“For whom?”

“Snarker,” Lola said reluctantly. “But he’s going to be a novelist. Or run a TV network someday. He’s brilliant. Everyone says no matter what he does, he’s going to be big.”

“Ah, yes,” Enid said, finding the cartridge. “I know exactly who he is.

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Really, Lola.” She paused. “I’m a little worried about your judgment. You shouldn’t be allowing that type of person into Philip’s apartment. I’m not even sure you should be allowing him into the building.”

“He’s my friend,” Lola said. “I’m allowed to have friends, aren’t I?”

“I didn’t mean to interfere,” Enid said curtly. “I was only trying to give you some kind advice.”

“Thank you,” Lola said pointedly, following Enid to the door. When Enid had gone, Lola crept out into the hallway and examined the peep-hole in Enid’s door. Was she standing on the other side, watching? How much could the old lady see out of that little hole, anyway? Apparently, too much. Returning to Philip’s apartment—Philip’s and her apartment, Lola reminded herself—she concocted a little story to explain Thayer’s presence. Thayer was helping with her research for Philip. Meanwhile, she was helping Thayer with his novel. It was all perfectly innocent. Enid couldn’t actually see into the apartment, so how could she know what was going on?

Lola hadn’t meant to get so involved with Thayer Core. She knew it was dangerous but found she enjoyed the thrill of getting away with it.

And being uncertain about her relationship with Philip, she justified her behavior by reminding herself that she needed a backup in case things with Philip didn’t work out. Admittedly, Thayer Core wasn’t much of a consolation prize, but he did know lots of people and claimed to have all kinds of connections.

But then Philip was coming home in a few days, and Lola warned Thayer that their time together had to end. Thayer was annoyed. Not because he wouldn’t be seeing Lola but because he so enjoyed spending time in One Fifth. He liked everything about it, and simply entering the building on Fifth Avenue made him feel superior. Before going in, he often looked around the sidewalk to see if anyone was watching, envying him his position. Then he’d pass by the doormen with a wave. “Going up to Philip Oakland’s,” he’d say, making a jerking motion with his thumb. The doormen regarded him with suspicion—Thayer could tell they didn’t like him and didn’t approve—but they didn’t stop him.

Dropping by Philip’s apartment that morning, Thayer suggested he and Lola look at some Internet porn. Lola was eating potato chips, crunching them obnoxiously just for the hell of it, Thayer thought. “Can’t,” she said.

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“Why not? You a prude?” Thayer said. “Nope. No Internet service. It’s all Paul Rice’s fault. That’s what everyone is saying, anyway. Enid says they’re going to try to kick him out. Don’t know if they can, but now everyone in the building hates him.”

“Paul Rice?” Thayer asked casually. “
The
Paul Rice? Who’s married to Annalisa? The society tartlet?”

Lola shrugged. “They’re super-rich. She rides around in a Bentley and has designers send her clothes. I hate her.”

“I hate them both,” Thayer said, and smiled.

Heeding the call to action, Mindy and Enid had scheduled an emergency meeting of the board. On her way down to Mindy’s, Enid paused outside Philip’s door. Sure enough, she heard voices—Lola’s and that of an unidentified man who, she assumed, was Thayer Core. Had Lola will-fully misunderstood what she’d said? Or was she simply dumb? Enid knocked on the door.

Immediately, there was silence. Enid knocked again. “Lola?” she called out. “It’s me. I need to talk to you.” She heard hurried whispers, and then Lola opened the door. “Hi, Enid,” she said with false cheer.

Enid pushed past her and found Thayer Core sitting on Philip’s couch with a script in his hand. “Hello,” Enid said. “And who might you be?”

Thayer suddenly became the proper prep-school boy whose image he’d been trying to shed for the past five years. He stood up and held out his hand. “Thayer Core, ma’am.”

“Enid Merle. I’m Philip’s aunt,” Enid said dryly.

“Wow,” Thayer said. “Lola didn’t tell me you were Philip’s aunt.”

“Are you a friend of Philip’s?”

“Yes, I am. And of Lola’s. Lola and I were discussing my script. I was hoping Philip might be able to give me some pointers. But I can see you two have things to talk about,” Thayer said, looking from Enid to Lola.

“I need to get going.” He jumped up and grabbed his coat.

“Don’t forget your script,” Enid said to him.

“Right,” Thayer said. He exchanged a look with Lola, who smiled stiffly. Thayer picked up the script, and Enid followed him into the hall.

They rode down to the lobby without speaking, which was fine by Thayer. His head was full of ideas, and he didn’t want to lose them by talking. In the past thirty minutes, he’d gleaned enough interesting 326

Candace Bushnell

material for several blog items. One Fifth was a hotbed of intrigue; perhaps he might create an entire series dedicated to the goings-on in the building. He could call it “The Co-op.” Or perhaps “The Lives of the Rich and Privileged.”

“Goodbye,” Enid said firmly when the elevator doors opened into the lobby. Thayer nodded at her and hurried out. All he needed to continue his attack on the residents of One Fifth was a steady supply of information. He turned over the script in his hand and smiled. It was the first draft of a screenplay by Philip Oakland with a working title of “Bloody Mary.” Philip Oakland would be furious if he discovered Lola had allowed an unfinished script to get out. And it wouldn’t get out as long as Lola was a good girl and played along. From now on, Thayer decided, Lola could come to his apartment. She would keep him up to date on the goings-on in One Fifth, and when she was finished talking, she could give him a blow job.

Enid rang Mindy’s bell. The door was opened by Sam, who had changed his mind about going to school, claiming he was sick. He led Enid into the tiny living room, where the three members of the board were engaged in a fierce discussion about Paul Rice.

“Can’t we force him to allow Time Warner into his apartment?”

“Of course. It’s the same as a handyman. And it’s affecting the other residents. But if he refuses, we have to get a letter from the building’s attorney.”

“Has anyone tried to talk to him?”

“We all have,” Enid said. “He’s impossible.”

“What about the wife? Maybe someone should talk to his wife.”

“I’ll try again,” Enid said.

On the other side of the wall, Sam Gooch lay on his bed, pretending to read his mother’s
New Yorker
. He’d left his door open so he could overhear the conversation. He looked up at the ceiling, feeling extremely pleased with himself. True, his actions had caused a great deal of trouble for everyone in the building, and he was scared to death of being found out, but it was worth it to get even with Paul. Sam guessed Paul would not be harassing anyone anymore, especially his mother. He would never say anything to Paul, but when they passed in the lobby, he would give O N E F I F T H AV E N U E

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Paul a certain look, and Paul would know Sam had been responsible.

Hopefully, he’d never be able to prove it.

A few minutes later, Enid knocked on the Rices’ door. Maria, the housekeeper, opened it a crack and said through the tiny slit, “No visitors.”

Enid stuck her fingers in the crack. “Don’t be silly. I need to see Mrs.

Rice.”

“Enid?” Annalisa called out. She stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind her. “This is not our fault.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Enid said.

“It’s because everyone hates Paul.”

“A co-op is like a private club,” Enid said. “Especially in a building like One Fifth. You may not necessarily like all the other members, but you do have to get along with them. Otherwise, it tears the whole building apart. Word gets out that it’s not such a great building, and then everyone’s real estate goes down. And no one likes that, my dear.”

Annalisa looked down at her hands.

“There is an unspoken code of behavior. For instance, residents must strive to avoid unpleasant encounters. We can’t have neighbors insulting each other. Yes, One Fifth is a fancy apartment building. But it’s also people’s homes. It’s their sanctuary. And without the security of that sanctuary, people become angry. I’m afraid for you and Paul. Afraid of what will happen if you don’t allow the repairman from Time Warner into your apartment.”

“He’s already here,” Annalisa said.

“Ah,” Enid replied, taken aback.

“He’s by the service entrance. Perhaps you’d like to talk to him.”

“Yes, I would,” Enid said.

She followed Annalisa through the door that led to the stairwell. The repairman held several cables in his hand. “They’ve been cut,” he said grimly.

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“Hey, Roberto,” Philip Oakland said, coming into One Fifth with his suitcase. “How’s it going?”

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“Been crazy around here,” Roberto said, and laughed. “You missed a lot.”

“Really?” Philip said. “Like what?”

“Big scandal. With the billionaire. Paul Rice. But your aunt took care of it.”

“Ah, yes,” Philip said, waiting for the elevator. “She always does.”

“And then it turned out that someone cut the cables outside the billionaire’s apartment. No one knows who did it. Then the billionaire called the police. Big scene between Mindy Gooch and Paul Rice. Those two really hate each other. So Paul Rice is making the co-op pay for cameras in the stairwells. And there was nothing Mrs. Gooch could do about it.

Man, that lady was mad. And Mrs. Rice won’t talk to anyone. The housekeeper calls ahead when she’s coming down, and we have to motion to the driver to bring the car around. No one’s mad at them, though, because someone did cut their wires, and Paul Rice gave the doormen a thousand bucks each to protect his wife. But now everyone who comes into the building, even the dry cleaner, has to register at the front desk and show ID. And if they don’t have ID, the residents have to come down and get them. It’s like a prison in here. Thing is, some people think it was your girlfriend’s friend that did it.”

“What?” Philip said. He jabbed the button for the elevator.

“That won’t make it come any faster.” Roberto laughed again.

Philip got into the elevator and punched the button for the thirteenth floor three times. What the hell was going on?

In Los Angeles, he’d gone right to work on the revisions for
Bridesmaids
Revisited
. For the first couple of days, he’d put Lola out of his mind. She’d called him ten times, but he hadn’t returned the calls. On his third evening in L.A., he’d phoned her back, thinking she would still be at her mother’s house. She wasn’t. She was in New York in his apartment. “Lola, we have to discuss this,” he said.

“But I’ve already moved in. I thought that was the plan. I unpacked all my stuff. I only took a small corner of the closet in the bedroom, and I put some of your things in your storage locker in the basement. I hope you don’t mind,” she’d said, as if suddenly realizing he might.