The Finishing School (18 page)

“My friend Fabulous Deon, he deejays for Expo sometimes. I know he can get us into Screen, but he won’t go unless I go,” Linda said.

“This is law-enforcement business. You can’t just tag along, and neither can he. All I need is the location of the club and the password.”

“Are you arresting somebody?”

“No, nothing like that. Just poking around. But still, I’d rather keep you and your friend out of it. You never know. It could get dangerous.”

“They know us at Screen. Nobody’s gonna bother us there. Besides, there
is
no password. It’s a velvet-rope-type thing, and you won’t get in without me and Fab D by your side to say you’re fly.”

“So what am I supposed to do with Maya? It’s way past her bedtime, and I can’t take a one-year-old to a nightclub.”

“Relax,
chica
, I took care of it. Mom’s on her way over here right now. She’ll take Maya back to your place and sit with her as long as we need,” Linda said.

“How’d you arrange that?” Melanie’s mother was even less interested in baby-sitting than her sister was.

“I’m telling you, ever since she started dating that widowed minister, she’s very
familia
-oriented. She’s trying to convince him she’s marriage material. Unlike the rest of us.”

“Speak for yourself. I was good at being married. It was my husband who fell down on the job,” Melanie said wistfully.

“Oh, my God, that reminds me! I saw Steve in a club this weekend. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. He was with—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Melanie said, shaking her head decisively.

“No, really, it was definitely him. You know, back when you first kicked him out, I was like, Hey c’mon, one little lapse, Mel, give the guy a break. I mean, people cheat, right? It’s not the end of the world. But he’s been on a rampage in the clubs since you two split. I told you about that time my friend Teresa saw him—”

“Lin, stop! Enough already. I don’t need to hear every time he picks up some bimbo in a bar.”

Melanie grabbed Maya from Linda’s arms. She hugged her daughter close for a moment, then put her down and peeled off her pink snowsuit and fleecy hat. A stubby little ponytail on top of Maya’s head sprang straight up. Melanie tweaked it playfully. Maya squealed and waddled away, toddling a few bowlegged steps before plopping down on the floor.

“Why not?” Linda asked.

“
Because
. It’s not healthy. I’m trying not to feel sorry for myself, okay? Steve and I are legally separated, which was
my
choice. He’s entitled to see other women, but still, I can deal with him better if it’s not shoved in my face constantly.”

“Deal with him? You mean, over the settlement negotiations?”

“That. Everything. He wants to spend Christmas with me and
la chiquita
here.”

“You’re not going to let him, are you?”

“He’s her father. I couldn’t stand it if he just disappeared out of her life, the way Papi did with us,” Melanie said, a catch in her voice.

“You still obsessing about
that
ancient history? You know, ever since I wrote Papi and told him he was a rat bastard and I never wanted to hear from him again, I feel so much better. You should try it. It’s very liberating.”

“It’s kind of an empty gesture to kick someone out of my life who’s not even in it, don’t you think? I just got a Christmas card from him from a totally new address. He signs it ‘
Feliz Navidad, Papi y familia
.’ That’s it. No note saying he moved, no pictures of his kids, nothing. You believe that?”

“So tell him not to write to you. Then you won’t feel bad when he sends you that impersonal bullshit.”

Melanie thrust the shopping bag at her sister. “Here, help me figure out what to wear. I don’t want to talk about this stuff anymore. Too depressing.”

Linda rummaged through the shopping bag, her dark brows knitting into a frown. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“I told you, mostly I own suits for work, and jeans. What about that red sweater? It’s pretty sexy on. Or the black dress from when Steve and I were dating? It had a little tear, but I sewed it.”

“Not if you plan to be seen in public with
me
! Get your butt in here,” Linda said, flouncing through the gold curtains into her closet. Melanie picked up Maya and followed.

Inside the closet, mirrors covered one wall, reflecting hundreds of specialized shoe cubbies Linda had installed opposite. Four massive department-store-style metal clothing racks bearing extravagant garments in every color of the rainbow filled the rest of the space.

“
Quítate la ropa
,” Linda ordered, and disappeared into the racks.

Melanie stripped off the jeans and turtleneck she’d worn over to her sister’s. She’d showered and blow-dried her hair when she went home to get Maya, and for reasons she couldn’t explain—or didn’t want to admit—donned her sexiest lingerie, a lacy black push-up bra and thong set trimmed in candy pink ribbon. Steve had given them to her for Valentine’s Day last year, right around the time she began to suspect he was fooling around with that executive assistant.
You wish
, she’d thought, and stuck them in the back of a drawer. But tonight she’d pulled them out, and now she twirled around, checking herself in the mirror, fantasizing about how Dan’s face would look if he saw her in them. How he’d come up to her, whisper to her in that incredible voice, back her up against the wall, put his hands all over her body—

¡Qué estúpida
! Like she could afford to get obsessed with Dan O’Reilly again, with how lonely and vulnerable
she
was these days. She even did it with Steve a few weeks back when he came by to drop off Maya, that’s how desperate she was for companionship—or, let’s be honest,
sex
. She would never tell Linda. And yes, she regretted it, but it’d just
happened
. She’d been sitting on the sofa in the dark flipping channels and feeling depressed while Steve put Maya down in her crib. She’d looked up to find him standing in the doorway bathed in the blue light of the TV, staring at her with this incredibly potent combination of lust and nostalgia. Next thing she knew, he was on top of her and they were going at it like wild animals.

Not that there was any real danger they would slip into a reconciliation. Steve kept her on track. Lying naked on the couch afterward, half dozing, she’d heard a noise like the clicking of insects and looked over to find him tapping madly away on his BlackBerry. He’d been evasive when she asked him who he was texting. If she started thinking even for a second about getting back together, she could count on Steve to remind her why she’d left.

“Uh, what?” Melanie said, realizing Linda had been speaking to her.

“I
said
, I’m glad to see you finally took my advice and got yourself some cute knickers,” Linda said, walking over and pinching Melanie’s hips. “And you’re looking real good, too. You were kinda porky there for a while, sis. What are you, on Zone or South Beach or something?”

“No, I just don’t have time to eat.”

Linda laughed.

“I’m serious,” Melanie said.

“Hey, whatever it is, it’s working. And I take it from your choice of undergarments you’re planning to get lucky tonight?”

“
No
!” Melanie said, but she could feel herself blushing.

“Oh, wait one minute! I haven’t seen that expression on your face since you were all crazy for that FBI hunk. Is there a new guy in the picture?”

“A new guy? Definitely not.”

Linda scrutinized her. “You’re not wearing that slutty underwear for my benefit,
chica
. Come on, give it up.”

“It’s not slutty.”

“Hel
lo
, good girl. Slutty is a compliment.”

“There’s no new guy,” Melanie insisted, still blushing.

“The
same
guy? He’s back?”

“Dan? No. Well, I mean, he’s assigned to my new case, but—”

“Assigned to your case!” Linda yelped and began hopping up and down, clutching herself. “Mel’s got a boyfriend, Mel’s got a boyfriend!” Maya, sitting on the floor playing with some plastic rings, looked at Linda and gave a hoot of hilarity. Melanie couldn’t help laughing, too.

“Lin, I swear, sometimes I think you’re still eight years old.”

“That would make you ten, and,
chica
, with those curves you do
not
look ten.”

Melanie watched in the mirror as her flamboyant sister waltzed around, holding on to a sparkly beige dress as if it were her dance partner. She was startled to see how alike she and Linda looked, with their shiny dark hair, almond eyes, and full lips. She thought of Linda as so much more beautiful than herself, but it wasn’t true. Linda just acted the part, whereas Melanie was afraid to.

“Come on, spill it,” Linda demanded. “What happened so far? And I want every gory detail. What he likes, the size of his—”

“Will you
stop
? Nothing’s happened, and nothing’s going to. Dan scares me too much.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not afraid of anything.”

“
This
guy, I am! When I get back into dating again, I’m taking it slow. He’d mess up my head, and I have Maya to think of after all.”

“Huh. Well, okay, if that’s how you feel. But I must say, I never saw a woman wear black lace panties for a guy she was planning to cold-shoulder.”

“I’m not wearing them for
him
. I’m just wearing them.”

“Yeah, right, Miss Jockey for Her. Like I believe that.”

Linda held the beige dress up against Melanie, studying the effect in the mirror.

“Hmm, no.
Muy de modo
but too neutral. We need you in some bright, sexy colors,
chica
. Something that screams, Hello, FBI hunk, nail my
boricua
ass so I can go home and tell my sister all about it.”

“Did you
hear
what I just said?”

“Oh, shut up and stop being so boring. Try this on, and we’ll just see where your night ends up.” Linda thrust a filmy scrap of tomato red fabric at Melanie.

“What is it?”

“It’s a top, silly. D&G. Label whore that I am, you should thank your lucky stars I’m even
thinking
of lending it to you.”

Melanie took the thing. There was barely enough to it to keep it on the hanger. She slipped it from its moorings and looked at it suspiciously.

“It won’t bite you. Take off your bra, and I’ll help you get into it,” Linda said.

“Are you crazy? I
need
a bra.”

“Oh, come on, it’s a halter. It’ll hold you up. I’m not on the ittybitty-titty committee either, you know. Besides, the FBI hunk’ll be on the edge of his seat, wondering if something’s gonna pop out.”

Melanie shook her head in disbelief.

“I’ll fix it so it works, promise,” Linda said, slipping the fabric over Melanie’s head and carefully adjusting the ties behind her neck. Melanie looked at herself in the mirror.

“Wow,” she said.

“Yeah. It’s amazing what the right outfit can do. It makes you beautiful, keeps you young. It’s almost like it cheats death.”

“Right. I’ll remember that the next time somebody shoots at me.”

“Very funny, smart-ass. Oh, wait, I have the perfect pants! I scored ’em at a fashion show after I talked up the designer on air.”

Linda disappeared back into the racks, emerging a second later with gauzy black chiffon pajama pants. Melanie stepped into them and zipped them up the side. They made her look thin and glamorous.

“Here, try these, too,” Linda said, pulling sexy satin pumps from a white box with MANOLO BLAHNIK stamped in black letters across the cover.

Maya put down the plastic ring she’d been chewing on and leaned forward on her diapered bottom. “Shoes!” she cried, pointing.

“She’s
your
niece, all right. That’s only her fourth word,” Melanie said with a laugh as she slipped on the stiletto-heeled pumps and studied herself in the mirror. Amazing what clothes could do. All of a sudden, she felt like a million bucks and life seemed full of possibilities.

Linda looked Melanie up and down approvingly. “You may or may not catch the bad guy, but I’ll tell you one thing,
chica
: This FBI agent better watch the fuck out.”

PATRICIA CHECKED HER WATCH for the fourth time. It was after hours. Holbrooke was deserted, and James—she hoped—was waiting for her at her apartment with a decent bottle of Bordeaux. The old building creaked and gasped all around her, steam radiators hissing, wind rattling the wavy glass in the ancient windows. Screw
charm
, this heating system was a goddamn joke. Patricia felt chilled to the bone. Who the hell did Hogan think he
was
, keeping her waiting?

Patricia was unpleasantly nervous. Her mind had been working overtime since this morning, when James had mentioned the so-called breach in their security. She hadn’t believed him at first. Now, having investigated further, she knew he was right. She’d pulled up the endowment ledgers on the computer, both sets of them—the real and the doctored. A clever plan, if she did say so herself. Nobody but Patricia knew the
total
sum of the contribution pledges. Her private ledger reflected
all
the pledge money, but the doctored books, the ones for public consumption, reflected only
most
of it. A little missing here, a little missing there. No individual donor could know that the total amount was wrong. And so the public ledger held, thus far, about four million less than had actually been contributed. Not such a shortfall that anybody would notice, mind you. Even after her skimming, there was still a substantial amount of money going to the school—more than enough to hire architects and structural engineers and get that new building going. And when the Van Allen pledge got wired in Friday night, all ten million of it…well, quite a lot of that was going to find its way into Patricia’s private ledger. The new building would still be called the Van Allen Upper School. It would just be a bit smaller in terms of square footage. That’s all. And Patricia would be
Mrs
. Senator Seward.