The Concealers (13 page)

They all decided some light conversation was in order as each had a second cup of coffee. Eventually, they went back to Preston and Marcia's condo. Marcia showed Katherine around, they peeked into P.J.'s room, where Marcia told Katherine how sweet P.J. was and about his hearing problems.

Preston showed Katherine his den, picked up a business card, wrote a number on the back, and handed it to Katherine. “This is a direct line; you can reach me on it anytime.” He reminded her about the car.

“I don't know, I appreciate the offer, but I feel really odd about accepting it. You're right that I do need a vehicle to take Hailey and move my stuff. Maybe—maybe you could come shopping with me and give me some guidance about a used SUV?”

“Not a bad idea. Why don't you come down to my Manhattan store tomorrow about noon? You could also meet Casey and Austin. I'd like them to meet you.”

“Do they know about . . . me . . . and you?”

“Casey does. I was too excited not to tell him.”

Katherine thanked her hosts—she still hadn't quite figured out what to call them—for a wonderful dinner and lovely evening. She especially thanked Preston for his willingness to openly discuss all of this with her, and for the generous offer of car help, to which he replied, “That's what fathers do.”

As Katherine rode the elevator down to the main floor and walked out of Trump Tower, she felt tears running down her face, and she made no attempt to wipe them away.

Katherine caught her mother mid-shift. “Hey, Mom. Can you talk?”

“Hi, Kat. Yes, for a couple of minutes. What's going on?”

“Give me a call when you can talk longer. Two minutes won't do it this time. I'll give you the headlines. I met Preston and his wife, and I'm going to look for an apartment on Long Island before I come up to see you.”

“You what? Hang on. I have more than two minutes.” The line went silent, and Katherine could picture her mother hurriedly requesting one of her nurses to cover her.

“I'm back. Sorry . . . you're coming home. Great. When? You don't know yet. Tell me more about the job. Your lease?”

“I'm thrilled. I'm okay with the lease; the landlord's anxious to get more rent and has someone waiting.”

“That's good.”

Beth's rush to talk about the job and the lease, while genuine, was to Katherine, her mother's attempt to buy time and allow her to absorb what she had just heard.
She puts this whole thing in play. Preston makes his move, I respond, and she can't figure out if she's happy or sad about it all.
Katherine decided to pierce her mother's cover.

“As to the Preston part: he e-mailed me. I liked what he said and how he said it. We met for lunch. At the 21 Club, can you imagine? He invited me to his condo last night to meet his wife and then have dinner. It was an amazing experience. Bottom line: he's all in, really trying, and I like him. A lot.”

The line went silent.

“Mom, are you there? Mom?”

Finally, Beth answered quietly. Katherine could hardly hear her. “I'm here. I can't talk more now. It's not work; I just can't talk right now. I'm glad you met him. We'll talk more later. I love you.”

The line went dead. While there was a lot more to discuss, Katherine had at least broached the difficult subject. Two down.

Katherine took the subway to Grand Central Station and the shuttle across to Times Square. Then she transferred to the uptown train to Columbus Circle and walked to the twenty-story, block-long building displaying the lighted Manhattan BMW-Mercedes Auto Plaza sign on two sides. She walked in the Fifty-Seventh Street entrance, noting the enormous windows admitting the sunlight onto a bevy of shiny new European cars. She gave the receptionist her name and asked for Mr. Preston Wilson.

The young woman told her that Mr. Wilson was not in the building, that he had left a message for her to see Mr. Fitzgerald, and ushered her to a second floor corner office with the door open. “This is Mr. Fitzgerald, and he is expecting you. Please go in.”

Katherine found Casey slouched behind his desk piled high with files, and munching on a Snickers bar. Aside from the spectacular view, the only items adorning Casey's office walls were his framed CPA license and photos of his wife, kids, and German shepherd.

Casey coaxed his 250-pound body out of his chair and waddled over to greet her.

“So you're Katherine. I'm delighted to meet you. Preston's told me a lot about you. Please, come in and sit down.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fitzgerald. Mr. Wilson has told me a little bit about you. I gather you are his right-hand man.”

“I don't know about that,” Casey said with a twinkle in his eye. “I'm Wilson's CFO.”

Scanning the wall across from the windows, Katherine said, “I assume these are your family? And you have a beautiful German shepherd, I see.”

“They are,” Casey said, looking at the pictures, “and Spike is a great dog. Are you a dog lover?”

“I am. I have a three-year-old golden retriever, Hailey.”

“Preston tells me you went to Columbia University and just received your master's in journalism. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. A lot is going on right now. Exciting times.”

“Well, Preston tells me he's assisting you with your vehicle needs today. You couldn't wish for a better adviser—or father—to help with that, I'll tell you! Do you mind letting Judy, my secretary, get a copy of your driver's license and information? As for meeting Austin Disley, that'll have to wait for another day. He had to go out to one of the properties at the last minute this morning.” They walked over to Judy's desk, where Katherine submitted her license and signed the papers she was given.

“Thank you, Mr. Fitzgerald. I really enjoyed meeting you. Maybe I'll see you again soon.”

“Cut out the Mr. Fitzgerald stuff. We dog lovers have to stick together. Call me Casey and give me a hug,” he said with outstretched arms.

Katherine immediately fell in love with this man, sensing intellect, warmth, and understanding. She gave him the hug he asked for. He went to his credenza, where Katherine would later learn he kept his private stash, pulled out three Snickers bars, and gave them to Katherine. “If my G2 is correct, you'll soon be driving out to Southampton. You'll need these along the way.”

Casey took Katherine down to the showroom, where she expected to meet Preston. Instead, they were promptly joined by a young, well-dressed salesman wearing the name plate John Riddle, who walked them over to a shiny vermillion metallic red 2012 BMW X5.

“Here she is,” Casey said. “All yours.”

“There must be a mistake, Casey, my . . . Mr. Wilson and I talked about going to look at used SUVs.”

“No mistake, Katherine, believe me. This is the car Preston wants you to have. He's still tied up in a meeting. Once you gave Judy your information upstairs, the title and insurance were processed. Don't screw it up. Take the car.”

Katherine struggled to find words. What finally came out was, “Yes sir, thank you, Casey.”

“Well, get in,” Casey said. “See how she feels. There is plenty of room for Hailey. John will answer all your questions.”

Katherine felt light-headed and dizzy with excitement as John opened the driver's door and she slid into the sand beige premium leather seats. She looked at the dash, put her left hand on the leather steering wheel and her right on the leather-covered gear shift, breathing in the new car smell. She had never sat in a car like this, let alone driven one. Or owned anything remotely like it.

“Why don't you wait in my office until the car is road ready?” Casey said. “It'll give us a chance to talk a little more.”

“I'd love that, Casey.” They walked upstairs and back into Casey's office. “You were in on this all along, weren't you?”

“Well, I don't mind admitting to a little deception—of the happy sort. Would you like anything to eat or drink, Katherine?”

“No thanks. I'm good. But I would like to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“Preston told me about Joe Hart. It's an amazing story. Especially the part about the Collectibles. I haven't been able to forget it. I've heard Preston and Marcia talk about Mr. Hart. You knew him. What was he like? Did he have a major influence on Preston?”

Casey sat back in his swivel chair, hands behind the back of his head, and put his feet up on the desk. “Joe Hart. He had one hell of an influence on me. I learned so much from that man, listening to him, watching him perform, watching the way he cared for others.”

“How old was he when he died?” Katherine asked softly.

“Forty-five or so. Way too young. And his wife was killed in a drive-by shooting only a year before, and his mother and father died when he was a young boy. Joe Hart had seen more tragedy than any man deserves.”

Casey went over to a table in the corner and poured himself a cup of coffee. He looked at Katherine, but she shook her head.

“What can you tell me about these Collectibles? And what is Preston's relationship to them?”

“I'll leave those questions for Preston,” Casey replied. “I can tell you that I recently received some materials from one of Joe's friends, a Mr. Thomas Greco, who is interested in buying land in Elko, Nevada, and starting a camp with Mrs. Greco for children with special needs. He and Preston have apparently talked about this. I don't know how interested you are, but you might also check with Alice Hawkins, who was Joe's secretary and right-hand, as you might put it. She lives in Braydon, South Carolina.” Casey wrote down Alice's telephone number and handed it to Katherine.

Their discussion was interrupted by Casey's intercom telling him that Miss Kelly's car was ready. Katherine felt another jolt of excitement.

Casey put his hands in the air and said, “Let's go get 'er.”

Katherine went over the controls and details with John one more time. He synced her cell phone, reviewed the automatic shift, the steptronic and manual sport shift options, and showed her how to work the stereo, the GPS, the Bluetooth, and countless other options. She tried to concentrate and absorb it all, but she was sure she would be reading the manual many times.

Finally cleared to go, and with her GPS set for Southampton, she drove her new SUV slowly away from the dealership into Manhattan traffic and headed back toward Long Island. The luxury SUV drove like a dream. Once off the freeway, and more comfortable with its features, she accessed her communication system and directed it to call Preston's cell phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Preston. This is Katherine. Am I getting you at a bad time?”

“Actually, I'm just going into a meeting. Is everything all right? Can I call you back?”

“Everything's fine. You don't need to call me back. I just wanted to tell you how much I'm enjoying driving my new car and how much I appreciate your giving it to me. It's awesome and I wanted to thank you.”

“So you've wrapped up your little surprise meeting with Casey and John? You're quite welcome. It's my pleasure. I'll talk to you soon. Thanks for the call,” Preston said.

An hour later, Katherine was enjoying a midafternoon coffee at the Princess Diner, going through the real estate ads in
Newsday
. Lots of expensive homes for sale, scads of vacation rentals. Apartments were harder to locate, especially in her budget range. But soon she spotted one that seemed to fit her needs: an 800-square-foot, one-bedroom, one-bath furnished apartment for lease just off Post Crossing in Southampton Village with parking and pets okay. Twelve hundred dollars per month. She called the number listed, and within twenty minutes, was doing a walk-through with the rental agent. It was small but clean and efficient, and the furniture was in good shape.

Katherine called Sol to ask his take on the apartment, valuing a local's opinion. He liked the location, recognized and felt good about the rental agency, thought the price was right, and encouraged her to take it. She gave Mr. Kaplowitz and the
Twin Forks Press
as a reference, signed the one-year lease, and told the agent she would send in the deposit in the morning.

As the sun began to set over Long Island Sound, Katherine contemplated her good fortune. How many lucky people would end up with a diploma, a job, a new car, and an apartment all in the same month—not to mention a father in the deal?

Time to call Susan. She gave instructions via the car's hands-free input and heard Susan's voice, crystal-clear, over the speaker system.

“Hi, you,” Susan said. “What's happening? Where are you?”

“I'm sitting in my new BMW SUV, driving back from Southampton, having just spoken with my new employer, Mr. Kaplowitz, owner of
The Twin Forks Press . . .
”

“Oh, my God,” Susan said. “Unbelievable. Knowing you, there's more. Keep going.”

Katherine did, for two straight hours. It was late by the time she got back to the city. Afraid to park on the street, she found a garage close by where she could put her new BMW overnight, deciding to pay the twenty-five bucks for peace of mind.

Katherine dined on an inglorious dinner of leftovers, cleaned out her refrigerator, packed her belongings, took a hot bath, and fell into bed. Hailey, thrilled to see her, lay down at her feet. It had been a most productive day.