Bank Robbers (24 page)

“Eva, my health is not so good,” Dottie said after a moment, and she saw Eva's large, flat face relax. With a small exhale, she looked up at her.

“It not serious?”

“Oh, no. But I can't do any heavy work, or a lot of shopping.”

“Cooking?”

“I'm a terrible cook.”

Eva looked very happy at that.

“I cook good,” she boasted and left the room.

Dottie finished the coffee and a roll and was just about to go back to the editorial when she heard a car horn honk outside.

She quickly walked to the front hall.

“Eva, I'm going,” she called out to her, and the vacuuming stopped and Eva appeared at the living room door.

“I make stew?”

“Fine,” she said, putting on her old coat. She smiled at her, and Eva disappeared back into the living room, and Dottie hurried out to meet Arthur at the car.

In forty minutes they were at a large mall in Westchester. It stretched over the landscape, large white buildings the size of airplane hangars with logos of store names in letters six feet high.

NEIMAN MARCUS
.

MACY'S
.

LORD & TAYLOR
.

SAKS FIFTH AVENUE
.

HARRY WINSTON
.

Arthur opened the car door for her, and Dottie got out and looked at all the buildings. She clutched her old coat closed, and they walked inside.

It was even more amazing inside the mall. There were trees and fountains and music. And the air reminded Dottie of some kind of carnival. It smelled of hot dogs and popcorn and fancy perfumes. The people walking around were all very well-dressed, women her age with well-coiffed hair and expensive clothing and makeup, many carrying shopping bags. Dottie kept holding her ratty old coat closed and tried not to look at any of them.

She felt out of place.

Arthur led them into a large department store, and over to an information booth. Dottie stood looking at the glass counters filled with beautiful bags and scarves, or intimidating bottles of scents with fancy stoppers. She watched Arthur walk over to her and pull out his wallet. He leafed through it.

“What are we doing here?”

“We're buying you clothes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“These places are too expensive.”

“You're the only woman I've ever met whose arm had to be twisted to go on a spending spree,” he whispered at her, exasperated.

“It's a waste of money.”

“Dottie, you can't go around dressed like that.”

“Yes.”

“No.” He was about to continue the argument when a thought suddenly occurred to him. “Look, if you don't look like you were born in Larchmont, you are just going to draw attention to the both of us. And that could put me in a rather peculiar position.”

“Like what?”

“Well, aiding and abetting, sheltering. Now, they may believe I wasn't in on it, but let's face it, I hid you out.”

“Is that why you need to talk to Sid?”

He nodded.

“No.”

“Am I right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good. Now, your name is Dorothy MacGregor, you're my wife, you just got out of the hospital and nothing fits. I want you to buy everything you need. I want you to get a good winter coat, and dresses and slacks, and jeans and sneakers, and nightgowns. I want you to have your hair done and buy makeup.”

“Arthur, I don't have the money—”

He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “You have almost a hundred grand in my armoire.”

“That's not mine. I can't touch that!” Her eyes flared at him, and he gave a chuckle.

“All right, you have the limit on my credit cards—”

“I can't afford this.”

“Dottie. You have to stop this with the money.”

A woman came up beside them with a name badge upon which was written, “Hello, my name is Frieda.” Dottie looked at her suspiciously and cleared her throat, smoothed her coat, and looked at her.

“Mr. MacGregor?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“You need assistance?”

He darted a glance at Dottie, and immediately said, “Yes. I need you to help Mrs. MacGregor here.”

“Arthur!” Dottie wailed, as he handed the woman several credit cards.

“She's to get a complete wardrobe, a haircut, and cosmetics.”

“Arthur,” Dottie's voice had a warning tone.

“And she's not to look at any totals or any price tags,” he said and gave Dottie a quick kiss. “Now I have to go see Sid. I'll be back at five.” He took a few steps and turned back, walking backward out of the store. “And nothing from Chanel, you know how I can't stand that.”

“Never,” Dottie said quickly. “I hate Chanel.”

They watched him walk off and Dottie looked at the woman, whose smile faded immediately.

“I don't want expensive things. We're not running up his credit-card bills, so if you think you're going to just sell me anything, think again.”

“Yes,” the woman said, taken aback.

Dottie took a step, then turned back.

“And I am perfectly capable of picking out my own clothes.” She took another step, then turned back.

“Yes, Mrs. MacGregor.” Her tone had become icy.

“And I don't need some kid telling me how to dress.”

The woman looked entertained by that.

“Just how old are you anyway?” Dottie sneered.

Frieda gave a wide smile. “I'm sixty-three, Mrs. MacGregor.”

And Dottie's mouth fell open a bit and she stepped back and looked the woman up and down.

“Should we start with sportswear?” the woman asked.

Dottie coughed and looked at the floor and mumbled, “That would be fine.”

*   *   *

“A
LL RIGHT
Mother, all right!” Tracy's voice was high and raspy.

She darted a glance over to her husband and rolled her eyes.

“We're not talking about some hellhole—”

“Yes, you are.”

“Mom, Florida is not a hellhole. It's one of the biggest resort states in America. People fly there from all over the world to vacation…” Fred, Jr., was staring at her. He seemed nervous.

Teresa stared at the three of them sitting at her kitchen table. Tracy's jaw, when it wasn't busy flapping at her, was busy loudly snapping a wad of chewing gum. For some reason it made her sunken cheeks look even skinnier and she looked hungry. Her husband was sitting with his arms crossed over his slightly spreading stomach, and he would look away quickly whenever Teresa tried to make eye contact. He'd always done that to her; maybe that was why she never fully trusted him. The man couldn't look you in the eye.

Her eyes turned to Junior. Now, he was a sight. He didn't look a thing like her son. His hair looked as if he'd had some kind of accident with a Clairol bottle; it was about twelve shades too light. It had been cropped very short on the sides and was almost a crew cut on the top. His skin, usually a kind of sallow color from the mix of Teresa's olive skin and Fred's pink, was the color of café au lait. He had on a fussy bright-pink shirt, a pair of khaki shorts, and Top-Siders. A pair of mirrored sunglasses was hanging by strings from around his neck. He looked like some kind of model, but when she looked at his eyes, there was something dead in them.

“Yeah, well, there ain't no accounting for taste.” Teresa gave a final drag on her cigarette and smashed it out in the ashtray.

“Look, Mom, we'd love to have you. Annette and the kids are all excited, and we have plenty of room.”

Teresa's eyes narrowed. “Of course you got room, half your house got blown down in the hurricane.”

“I told you, we have all the walls back up, and the place'll be painted and ready by the time you get on the plane.”

“I ain't moving to Florida, and that's final.”

“Well, Mom, you can't live here anymore. The neighborhood's gone to hell, and we can't traipse up here twice a week with food because you won't come and live with us on the Island,” Tracy snapped, and stood up.

“Now, we're going to start packing up your stuff and we have a plane ticket for you for tomorrow afternoon—”

“I ain't moving!” Teresa felt her eyes begin to fill. “I told you, I like it here, I been here my whole life. If your father was here—”

“Well, he isn't—”

“Yeah, you noticed. Your father's only been dead five and a half weeks, and you're going to move me all over the planet!”

“For your own good.”

Teresa let out a damp cackle and coughed.

“This ain't got nothing to do with my good. This is your good. I love this neighborhood. And your father and I swore we'd never leave it till we died, and my life ain't over yet, don't any of youse understand that?” Her voice rose to fever pitch, and Teresa stood up and placed her hands on her hips. “And not you or anyone is gonna order me anywhere, you hear me?”

She watched the three of them exchange glances, and Fred exhaled loudly and stared at the tabletop.

“Mom, we're not paying the rent on this apartment anymore.”

“So what?” Teresa snapped at him. “You think I ain't got no other means than the three of youse? To hell with all of youse!” Teresa grabbed her purse, pulled open the apartment door, and walked out, slamming it hard.

She walked quickly to the top of the stairs and stopped. Now what? She didn't know what to do, she just had to get out of there. She felt like running away. Trying to get control of herself, she stared down the empty flight of stairs. Inside the apartment she could hear their voices.

“Let her go.”

“But it's dangerous out there.”

“Fred, you been in the sun too long.” Tracy's voice snapped. “Just let her run off some steam, she'll be back as soon as she realizes she doesn't have any choice. It's not like she has some secret bank account hidden somewhere.”

“You sure?” Fred's voice asked.

“Like I told ya, she don't got enough to loan you to get your house fixed and we don't got enough to loan you for the house. At least this way Annette can go back to work and there'll be someone there to look after the kids.”

“Yeah, but what about this breast thing?”

“It's just a biopsy, they don't really know anything. And if something happens, she has Medicaid.”

Teresa wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, and began descending the stairs. She was still crying when she got to the second-floor landing. She didn't know where to go, or what to do, but she was sure as hell not going to be shipped down to Florida.

*   *   *

A
T A QUARTER
to six Dottie went to the information booth. Her hair had been restyled and was now brushed forward with bangs, so that it framed her face and cheekbones. She wore makeup of peach tones and a light red shade of lipstick that made her face glow. She was dressed in a green silk blouse and black wool pants which seemed to state that this was a woman who had always taken good care of herself.

She had on earrings and a matching gold necklace and pretty black shoes, and Arthur stood holding his coat with his mouth open as she approached. The happiness on her face was exactly what he had been hoping for on his drive back to the mall.

It was either this or he figured she'd still be wearing the same dress and coat he left her off with, and there would be at least one saleswoman in this mall who would eternally curse Arthur MacGregor.

Behind her were several people carrying boxes and shopping bags, and Frieda looked as if Christmas had just come to her house.

“Well, Arthur,” Dottie said, “ready to go home?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said and watched a man hold out a flaming red coat, and she slipped into it.

He watched the small group of men with boxes and bags follow her out like a small parade, and he turned to Frieda.

“Thank you. This was better than I hoped for.”

“No trouble, Mr. MacGregor,” She answered and handed him the bill.

He laughed out loud at the number and thought that it was going to be time soon to travel up to Poughkeepsie to make a withdrawal from one of his safety-deposit boxes. He handed Frieda a two-hundred-dollar tip and left.

She had filled the trunk and the backseat with boxes, and sat next to Arthur smiling and looking out the window at the houses and the sunset.

“So,” she said, and flicked on the radio. “How was your meeting with Sid?”

“Fine; he's at the house.” Her smile drooped. “He'll have dinner with us,” Arthur added.

She shifted uncomfortably in the seat. “Does he know?”

“Oh, yes.”

She put her hand on the armrest and covered her eyes with it.

“You look beautiful,” he said, and she looked over at him.

“I do?” A smile went across her face.

“Yes, and I'm very proud of you. You actually spent money. That tight fist of yours actually opened.”

“I'm going to pay you back every cent—now stop teasing me.”

“I can't help it. And I don't know what I'm going to say to Sid.”

“What do you mean?”

“I spent the entire afternoon telling him what a poverty-stricken, weak old woman you are.”

*   *   *

S
IDNEY
A
RNOWITZ
was sitting in the living room when they entered, drinking a diet soda and watching the news. He got up and gaped at Dottie.

“This is the woman?” he said to Arthur, as he dropped an armful of shopping bags on the hall floor. “This is the weak, old woman?”

“We went shopping.”

“Yes,” he said and stared at the plethora of bags on the floor. His face became even longer as Arthur left and reappeared with more bags.

“You bought out the mall?”

“Now, Sid,” Arthur said and helped Dottie off with her coat. Eva appeared from nowhere and took both their coats.