“Sam isn’t here,” Mindy said. “He’s away for a few days.”
“How nice for him. Where?”
Mindy stood in her doorway, blocking Enid’s entry. She didn’t want Enid to see her apartment. She was private about her space, but also embarrassed. Plus, her hostility toward Philip often extended to Enid, as she was his aunt. “He’s gone upstate with friends. I’ll tell him to ring your buzzer when he gets back.”
Enid didn’t move away. “What do you think?” she asked.
“About what?” Mindy said.
“It might
not be a bad idea to break up the apartment.”
“I don’t know why you’re interested,” Mindy said.
“I’ve lived in the building for over sixty years. Naturally, I’m interested in everything that goes on here.”
“I appreciate that, Enid. But you’re no longer on the board.”
“Not technically,” Enid said. “But I have a lot of friends.”
“We all do,” Mindy said, although in her case, she wasn’t sure this was entirely true.
“If we split up the apartment, we could probably sell to people who already live in the building. It could save you a lot of headaches,” Enid pointed out.
Ah, Mindy thought. Enid wanted the bottom floor for Philip. It made sense. Philip could break through from his own apartment. And he probably had the money. Not enough for the whole apartment but enough for one floor.
“I’ll think about it,” Mindy said. She closed the door firmly and went back to her accounts. No matter how she added them up, they were still short. That was that, then. There was no way she would allow Philip Oakland to get the bottom floor of that apartment. If she and James couldn’t have a floor, why should he?
“Check out Sanderson vs. English,” Annalisa Rice said into the phone. “It’s all very clear. And of course there’s the moral element, which always sways juries. It’s like an Aesop’s fable.”
“Damn, Rice,” said the male voice at the other end. “Why’d you have to go and move to New York on me?”
“Change, Riley,” Annalisa replied. “It’s good, remember?”
“I know you,” Riley said. “You’re probably already on to the next big thing. Are you running someone’s campaign? Or running for office yourself?”
“Neither.” Annalisa laughed. “I’ve made a U-turn, to put it mildly. You won’t believe what I’m doing right now.”
“Helping the homeless?”
“Consorting with the rich. I’m going to the Hamptons for the weekend.”
Riley laughed, too. “I always said you were too glamorous for Washington.”
“Damn you, Riley,” Annalisa said. “I miss you guys.”
“You can always come back,” Riley said.
“Too late,” Annalisa said. She said goodbye and hung up the phone, twisting her auburn hair into her trademark ponytail. She went to the window and, pushing back the heavy gold drapes, looked out at the street. It was a long way down. She pushed at the window, longing for some fresh air in the overly air-conditioned suite, and remembered that the windows were bolted shut. She looked at her watch; it was three o’clock. She had two hours to pack and get to the heliport. It should have been plenty of time. But she didn’t know what to pack. What did one wear to a weekend in the Hamptons?
“Paul, what should I bring?” she’d asked that morning.
“Oh, hell. I don’t know,” Paul had said. Paul was her husband. He was engaged in getting out the door by seven A.M. on the dot, sitting on the edge of a hassock, pulling on thin silk socks and Italian loafers. Paul had never worn proper shoes before. He’d never had to, before New York. Back in Washington, he’d always worn leather Adidas tennis shoes.
“Are those new?” Annalisa asked, referring to the shoes.
“I can’t say. What does new mean, exactly?” Paul asked. “Six months old? A day? These kinds of questions are only answerable if you know the context of the person asking.”