When You Don't See Me (16 page)

“It's up to him,” Nigel answered. To me he said, “I could use you. Taking Polaroids and cataloging items, that sort of thing. That is, if you're not helping anyone else right now.”

I glanced at Bailey. Her wide-eyed expression and frantic nodding prompted me to say, “Sure. Let's go.”

Ten minutes later we were in the air-conditioned comfort of a black car that was on loan to Sheila. I was surprised when she gave the driver an address on Central Park West. She noticed my puzzled stare and said, “I'm moving.”

I thought of the town house apartment she and her husband, Josh Clinton, rented. It was a cozy duplex on the ground floor with a small garden behind it. “Are you outgrowing your apartment?”

“I thought we weren't commenting on each other's bodies,” Sheila said. Before I could say anything, she added, “My career is outgrowing the old place. Everyone is telling me I need to be in a building with security.”

“The San Remo is supposed be like a fortress,” Nigel said.

“That's what I hear,” Sheila said.

I always confused the San Remo Building with the El Dorado, so I didn't say anything. I couldn't hear an address and automatically know which building it was. I felt out of my league.

I felt out of my body while we were in the elevator, until we exited and followed Sheila as she led us to her new apartment. She fumbled with the obligatory key ring of a true New Yorker. It looked like one of those key rings jailers in cartoons always seemed to have, comically crammed with hundreds of keys. She figured out which ones worked the locks and opened the door. I prepared myself for the mandatory celebrity apartment: one worthy of a very special episode of
MTV Cribs.

Instead, we walked into an apartment that almost resembled a typical college dormitory. Each room deserved the suffix “ette” attached to it. A small kitchenette adjoined a living roomette. There was no dining area, so I tried to imagine Sheila and Josh eating on TV trays. The bathroom was the size of a Honda Accord. Surprisingly, there were two bedrooms.

Sheila and Nigel were talking about the apartment in admiring tones. They praised the light, the neighborhood, and the view of the park, all without taking more than ten steps. Their voices echoed in the empty space. I felt like we were in a recording studio instead of an apartment, and wondered if carpeting the walls would make the place look bigger.

“Why?” I suddenly asked without meaning to.

“What?” Sheila asked. Behind her, Nigel's eyes grew wide.

“I mean,” I began, “for some reason I thought this place would be bigger.”

“I'm not a girl who worries about size,” Sheila quipped. Nigel laughed. I rolled my eyes. She looked around the room and absently said, “I know it's not much, but it's all we need. Besides, we got a good deal.” She laughed and added, “I remember when I first moved here. I lived with Blaine in this dump of an apartment. It was probably no bigger than this place.”

“I know,” I said. “I lived there. I slept on the couch, because Gavin had your old room.”

“Oh,” Sheila said. “That's right.”

There was a short silence, which Nigel killed by asking if we could see her current apartment. Sheila sent the car and driver away, saying she'd rather walk the short distance to the town house. Her newfound need for security seemed unfounded, because the people we passed along the way seemed barely to look at her. One woman even bumped into Sheila and called her a bitch.

Once inside her real apartment, Sheila ran around, straightening piles of magazines on tables, picking up discarded shoes from various corners of the living area, and asking us if we'd like something cool to drink. I waved her away and got myself and Nigel glasses of ice water, while Sheila grabbed a basket of dirty laundry from the kitchen counter and ran to her bedroom while muttering something about not having enough hours in a day.

While she was gone, I showed Nigel around the apartment and pointed to several pieces of furniture in the living area that I'd always liked: an apothecary cabinet, a set of ladder-back dining chairs, a Noguchi coffee table, and an enormous oak bookcase with intricate scrollwork and gargoyle heads carved along the edges.

Sheila returned just as Nigel was running his fingers along the edge of the bookcase and said, “After Josh and I got married, I begged him to get rid of that thing, but he refused. I don't think it's going to fit in our new place.”

I didn't think anything would fit in their new apartment, but I didn't say it out loud. Instead, while Nigel asked Sheila about her favorite colors, I slipped away from them and went downstairs to the den. I stared through the French door at the garden behind the brownstone, remembering different times I'd sat outside with my uncle and his friends while Sheila and Josh told us stories about their travels. Those nights were always fun. But I couldn't remember the last time I'd been a part of one of their garden parties. Was that my fault, or had they stopped inviting me because I'd moved out of Blaine and Daniel's place? Was I being punished somehow? Why?

I hadn't noticed that the red light above the door to Josh's darkroom was lit until he stepped out with a set of prints in one hand and closed the door behind him. When he saw me standing in the den, he grinned and said, “Hey, stranger. How goes it?”

“It goes. I go with it. What's that?” I asked.

Josh grimaced and said, “I guess you call it Josh Clinton's greatest hits. They're just proofs, highlights from my career, for a book of my work.”

“A book? Cool.”

“My agent fished around and found a publisher who's interested. It really wasn't my idea. I can't imagine who would buy the thing, but what do I know? I'm just going along with it and seeing what happens. No skin off my nose.”

“Can I see them?”

He handed me the photos and said, “Knock yourself out.”

I sat on a nearby sofa and started flipping through the photographs. Josh sank down on the cushion next to me, and I felt myself blush. He was supposed to be like a member of my family, but he was more like that hot second or third cousin that you probably shouldn't think was attractive. The fact that he was so passionate about art didn't help, either. As he explained why he chose each picture, and pointed out various lines, shadows, and focal points, I kept concentrating on his hands as they moved through the air, through his shaggy brown hair, or thoughtfully rubbed his chin.

When I was done looking at the last picture, a shot of the back of someone's head with a shoe balancing on top, I said, “They're all really cool.”

“Thanks,” he replied. He put them into a manila envelope and said, “Is my wife home?”

“Yeah. She's upstairs with Nigel.” When he looked puzzled, I added, “This dude I work with.”

“Oh, right. I forgot about that. No offense, but I told her we should just have a huge tag sale and start over from scratch. What did you think of the new apartment? Glamorous, huh?”

“Seems really cozy,” I said diplomatically.

Josh laughed, then said, “That's a good word for it. The place in L.A. is a lot bigger.”

“What place in L.A.?”

“We just closed on a house in Beverly Hills. Okay, technically it's in West Hollywood—nothing fancy by any means—but it's a cute place. And I can see by the look on your face that this is all news to you, isn't it?”

“Yeah. Sheila didn't mention the house in Los Angeles part.”

“A while back we rented movies, one of which was that movie with Jodie Foster where guys break into her town house and terrorize her. From then on, Sheila wanted to move. Her manager thought it was a good idea. Because she's apparently too high profile now, she needs a place with a doorman, and all kinds of other reasons. We started looking for a place to buy. Which sucks, I might add.”

“I can imagine,” I said, remembering how much I'd hated looking for a place to live.

“Then we stopped and talked about our long-term career goals. Sheila's taking acting lessons and trying to get more movie roles. Most of the commercials she does are shot on the West Coast, and she's always flying back and forth. It just makes sense to get a house out there and keep a small place here.”

“But what about you? Aren't you still working for
Ultimate Magazine?
”

“It folded.”

“What?” I exclaimed.

“Yup. The last issue comes out next month. Couldn't compete with the Internet. It's a blessing, really, because I have enough work as it is. Most of which is on the other coast.”

“Oh.”

“We'll be back a lot, though. You haven't seen the last of us. I promise.” His cell phone rang. He answered it and said, “It's my agent. I have to take this.”

I nodded and watched as he bounded up the stairs. Then I frowned at the envelope on the coffee table for a while. I heard footsteps and didn't look up until Sheila said, “I'm sorry I didn't tell you that we're moving to Los Angeles.”

“It's okay,” I mumbled.

“I didn't want anyone else to tell you, and I wanted to tell you in person.”

“Should I tell Nigel the gig is over, since it was just a ploy to get me over here?”

“No! Look at this place. It looks like a used furniture shop. Nigel's already making big plans for our house in L.A., so don't ruin that, please. We need his help.”

“I always liked this apartment,” I said.

“Yeah, so did I,” Sheila said. She sighed and sank onto the sofa. “We've had some good times here. We'll have more. We're not going away forever.”

“I know,” I said, even though I didn't.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No,” I said.

“Then what's with the surly teenager bit?” I glared at her, but she spoke before I could. “I don't know why, but you've completely bailed on us, Nick. You're an adult now, you're in your own apartment, you're living your life. That's great. That's how it should be. I did the same thing when I was your age. But I didn't cut myself off from the people who care about me. I don't know why you're doing that. I don't even want an explanation, because I'm still your friend and I'll always care about you. No matter what you do.” Sheila thrust her face in mine and said in a demonic voice, “You can't get rid of me, Nick Dunhill!”

I laughed and said, “You're nuts, lady.”

She pulled a set of keys from her pocket and said, “Here. These are keys to the new apartment.”

“Why?”

“Because you'll need to get in and out whenever Nigel starts moving stuff, won't you?”

“Oh, right,” I said, feeling dumb.

“And if you were to make a set for yourself, Josh and I won't mind. You never know when you might want to get away from whatever madness is going on in your life. Plus I'd love it if, when we're gone, you'll check on the place every now and then.”

“When are you guys moving?”

“Pretty soon. I'm starting a new movie in a few weeks. It's an action-adventure film and I play a model—big stretch, I know—but I get killed. I'm getting big bucks to play dead. I can live with that. It beats hawking fried chicken,” she said, referring to her most recent commercial. She'd portrayed a model voraciously attacking a bucket of fried chicken between walks down a fashion show runway.

“No. That was funny,” I protested.

“Thanks. Are you still mad at me?”

“I never was,” I said. “I'm just—I don't know, sad, I guess.”

“You don't like change,” Sheila stated. “I understand. But I thrive on it. I'm lucky to have the career that I do, because I'm never in one place for too long. Josh is the same way. We're a good fit. We go with the flow. You do it, too, though. You came here, you lived with Blaine, you tried college, you dropped out, you moved into your own place. You're going with the flow, too.”

“I guess so,” I said. “I've never really thought about it.”

“Are you happy? Healthy?”

“I guess I am.”

“Haven't really thought about it?” she said and smiled.

“I'm fine. Everything is good,” I assured her.

“Good. I'm proud of you, Nick. You're starting a new life for yourself. It's exciting.”

Before she could ruffle my hair or pinch my cheeks, I stood and said, “Thanks. I should probably get back to work.”

Sheila went to the office with us to sign paperwork authorizing Nigel to do whatever it was he planned on doing to the Meyers-Clinton homes. When we walked in, Eileen looked up from her knitting to tell me that Bailey wanted to speak with me. I promised Sheila I'd see her again before she and Josh moved, then went to see what Bailey wanted.

When I entered her office, Bailey said, “Did you have fun hobnobbing with the rich and famous?”

“Did I do something wrong?” I asked, pointedly ignoring her question.