Twelve Rooms with a View (5 page)

“I …”

“According to Tina Finn, who claims she is not a thief, evidence on hand notwithstanding, Dad left the apartment to her mother, you remember the oh so lovely Olivia—”

“Jesus, Pete.” Doug looked away, disgusted and embarrassed. “Knock it off, would you?” He stood and grabbed the bottle of vodka, then went over to the little freezer full of ice cubes. The drinking was apparently going to continue with both these fellows.

“I’m just getting to the good part. Dad left the apartment to Olivia—”

Doug turned at this, confused and concerned and about to interrupt, but Pete had more up his sleeve.

“And Olivia left it to her daughters.”

This stopped Doug in his tracks. He turned and looked back at me, skeptical but wary. The whole idea was clearly so ridiculous that he couldn’t take it in.

“She didn’t actually leave it to us,” I said, embarrassed as hell. “I mean, she did leave it to us. She didn’t make a will, and there’s this, you know, she died intestate. And that means—”

“I know what ‘intestate’ means,” said Doug, going for the ice. “This would explain what you’re doing here.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Is your mother even in the ground yet?” he asked in a sort of edgy tone. No more friendly expressions, so sorry for your loss—now I had to tough it out with both of them. To hell with it. If they were both drinking, then so would I.

“The funeral was yesterday morning,” I said, grabbing my half-empty glass of vodka and grapefruit juice and following him into the kitchen, defiant. “So we went from the cemetery to the lawyers and then we came here.”

“Very efficient.” Doug nodded. He dumped some ice in my glass and handed me the vodka bottle.

“Well, we didn’t, it’s not like, I mean I had no idea about any of, any, you know, they didn’t even tell me until after, I was standing there at the grave, you know, honestly, when they told me about it.”

“‘They’ being …”

“My sisters.”

“Right, there are several of you,” Doug reminded himself. “Four of you?”

“Three. Me and Alison and Lucy. And Daniel, he’s Alison’s husband. But no kids. None of us has managed to, I guess.”

“Fascinating.” Doug nodded. “And someone told you …”

“This lawyer, he said he was my mom’s lawyer.”

“That idiot Long,” stated Pete. He was lying on the couch now, spread out the whole length of it, so there was nowhere else for anyone to
sit in this dreary little room. He had the cedar jewelry box open on his lap, the one that had Mom’s perfume bottle in it. He was actually looking at it. “And he said you inherited our apartment. You inherit all my mom’s stuff too?”

“That was
my
mom’s.” I wanted him to give it back.

“It was not your mother’s,” Doug informed me, cold. He was looking at me as if he was trying to decide what to do with me, like maybe he could just lock me in a closet and leave me there. I started to think he might not be the nice brother after all; maybe he was just a little less sparky than Pete.

“Yeah, it was too,” I said. “She had it her whole life. So I just, that’s why I was looking through their stuff. I knew it was in there and I wanted to have it.” I set my drink down and walked over to the couch, reaching out my hand to take it from asshole Pete. He closed his fingers over it and dropped it back into the jewelry box and shut it.

“Everything’s up for grabs, though, isn’t it? Isn’t that what Long told you?” Pete sat up, putting the jewelry box next to him, so close he was almost sitting on it.

“No, that’s not what he told me. What he told me was everything was ours.”

“Everything of ours is yours, that’s what he told you?”

“He told me, he told everybody—”

“Oh look at this!” Pete found the tarnished silver box with all the keys in it; he had been lying on it on the couch. “You take a fancy to this too?”

“I wasn’t stealing anything!” I said.

“Except our home,” said Doug. He leaned up against the wall, looked out the window.

“Oh look, my mom’s wedding ring,” Pete observed, picking it out of the silver box. “Glad to know you weren’t stealing that.”

“Look, you guys are mad. Okay, I get it,” I said.

“Like her mother, a regular rocket scientist,” Pete murmured.

“My point being I’m not the one who fucked up this situation. That would be your dad, right? Didn’t he tell you he was leaving the apartment to my mom? Didn’t he even tell you that?”

“Who are you again?” said Pete, really pissed now. “Have we met? Do I know you? Then what the fuck are you doing here in my apartment! I grew up here with my family and my mother—my father was happily married to my mother for twenty years, not
two
years,
twenty
years. This is our apartment! What the fuck are you doing here, sleeping in
my
bed? What the fuck gives you rights?”

“Well, apparently some document that your father signed gives me rights.”

“He was a fucking drunk!”

“Yes, that’s real news, I was here for fifteen minutes I figured that out.”

“Because booze was the first thing you went looking for—”

“No—”

“Just like your mother.”

“Go tell the judge. Go tell Stuart Long. What are you yelling at me for? You think I’m making this up? You think I’d be here if they hadn’t given me the keys?” I snapped. “Go yell at your father. Oh, sorry. Guess you missed that chance.”

That shut old Pete up. He glanced at Doug, who looked at him for a second, then out the window. It happened pretty fast, but there was no question.

“Holy shit, he
did
tell you, didn’t he?” I said. “You knew. That he was leaving her the apartment. He told you. That’s why you’re so mad. Because you knew.” They both looked at me real surprised for a second, like it hadn’t occurred to either of them that I might actually put that together.

“You don’t know anything,” said Pete, deflated as hell all of a sudden.

“Well, I don’t know a ton, but I’m learning as we go,” I retorted. “What’d you do, piss him off? That’s just a wild guess.”

“Don’t push your luck,” he said, but he was tired now.

“I don’t think we should be talking about this,” Doug observed, cool as a cat. Seriously, these two were a mixed set, like salt and pepper shakers. They maybe fit together, but they weren’t alike. They both knocked
back their vodka at the same time, but I could see it wasn’t going to bring them any peace. Like vodka brings anybody peace, ever.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Doug.

“What, we’re just going to let her stay?” Pete asked, offended by my very existence now.

“Unless you want to take her home with you, I don’t know what to do with her,” Doug said, shrugging.

“You know, you guys don’t actually get to decide what to do with me,” I said, all snarky and defiant again.

“Don’t count on that,” said Doug, rapidly moving into first place in the asshole competition that we all had going by this point. “And don’t get too comfortable.” He set his empty drink down on the kitchen counter and headed for the back hallway. Pete slammed back the rest of his drink and picked up the jewelry box as he stood.

“Listen,” I said.

“What?” He looked at me. There would be no listening tonight.

“Nothing,” I said.

He nodded and turned, following his brother down the hallway, taking my mother’s little black bottle of perfume with him.

I
CALLED
L
UCY FIRST THING IN THE MORNING. SHE WAS NOT THE
least bit impressed with my story about Tina and the night visitors.

“They were going to show up eventually, that was a given,” she announced.

“They were pretty pissed,” I told her.

“Did you think they were going to be delighted to hear that they’ve been disinherited? I didn’t.”

“Man, Lucy, do you always have to be so mean about everything?” Lucy, she’s, no kidding, it’s very impressive how capable she is, but sometimes she just seems to think everybody should sleep on rocks. Plus I had a whanging hangover. I was in no mood for all this steely resolve.

“Just because I knew they were going to show up, that doesn’t mean I’m particularly happy about it,” she replied. “I think this could get pretty complicated pretty quickly, and I don’t see any point in being naive about that.”

“Yes, yes,
okay,”
I said. “Actually, what I meant was couldn’t you be like a little worried that I was stuck in this apartment by myself and these two big guys showed up and scared the shit out of me?”

“They frightened you?”

“Well, yeah, of course they did! I was sound asleep, and all of a sudden there are two big guys in this empty apartment with me, I didn’t know who they were. It was terrifying.”

“Did they threaten you?” Lucy asked, only idly curious.

“They were both drunk, and yeah, they threatened me—they threatened me a lot,” I said. That cheered her right up; she went from being slightly interested to downright perky.

“That is absolutely unacceptable.” I could hear her typing.

“Are you taking notes?” I asked, kind of wanting to strangle her.

“I just want to have everything on paper for the lawyers. We have to have a paper trail if they get aggressive. No point in putting it off. Listen, I have to run to a meeting.”

“You’re running to a fucking meeting? What am I supposed to do if they come back?”

“Tell them to call our lawyer,” she replied. “Let’s see—Long, tell them to call Stuart Long, you met him yesterday, he was Mom and Bill’s lawyer, he put together the will.”

“Yes, I remember, but I don’t have his number.”

“They’ll know who he is, Tina,” Lucy said. “Listen, I really do have to run.”

“Wait a minute, would you wait a minute?” I said. “There’s somebody here.” And there was. Somebody was in the apartment.

“Is it them?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but it’s someone,” I whispered. I was in that little couch-and-television island where Bill and Mom had drunk themselves to death. But the air in the back of the apartment was moving differently, like the wind that comes just before a train arrives in a subway station. And then I could hear somebody moving around.

“Tina, go find out who it is, and if there’s a problem, call me back,” she instructed. “I’ll tell my assistant to come get me out of my meeting if you really need me. All right?”

“Can you just hold on a minute?”

“No, sorry, I can’t. For heaven’s sake. It’s not like it’s the middle of the night and they’re walking in and threatening you. I can understand why that upset you, but this should be easy. Handle it, would you? You’re not a child.”

“Look, don’t talk to me like that, okay?” I said, really annoyed now. “I don’t appreciate it; we’re all in this together.”

“That’s my point. If you need me, call me back.” And then she hung up. No kidding. She hung up on me without saying good-bye.

“I hate my family,” I said to myself. I knew that calling Alison would be useless in the complete opposite direction. She would get all uptight and start freaking out and have no idea what I should do, and
then she and Daniel would come to the apartment and he’d try to take over. I decided I’d better go see what the hell was going on.

I heard another sound, like pots banging in a kitchen six miles away. “Hey!” I yelled. “Who’s in here?” Which was not particularly sly, but I wasn’t looking for the surprise element, since I assumed it was those two boneheads, or at least one of them. “You need to get out of here!” I yelled. I was charging through the maze of rooms now, all determined and cocky. The apartment looked considerably friendlier in the morning light. Even though there wasn’t much furniture and the carpeting was shitty, the walls were painted all beautiful colors, which glowed in the morning light. It gave me courage, which was good because I didn’t have much else to go on. “Get out of here and call your stupid lawyer and stop bothering me!” I shouted, charging into the giant room at the front of the apartment.

“Helllooooo,” said a man. “Who are you?”

Okay, I practically jumped out of my skin. When I turned the last corner, there was a man, but not Pete or Doug, standing in the middle of that big empty room. He was quite short and very tidy, a tidy little person in clothes covered with dirt. I half expected him to evaporate, but he didn’t. He just stood and stared at me until I recovered the part of my brain that wasn’t completely hungover, and I flipped out.

“Who am
I
?” I said. “Who are
you?”

“Oh wait, oh wait,” he said. “I know who you are. You’re Tina! Alison, Lucy, and Tina; you’re Tina. Olivia showed me pictures. I’ve seen pictures of you.”

“You’ve seen
pictures
of me?” I said.

“Look at you—you’re pretty, you’re much prettier in real life, you don’t photograph well at all. I think that’s strange, don’t you, how some people look just lovely when you meet them, and then you see them in pictures and you think, well,
that
didn’t translate. Well, anyway. I’m Len! Your mother … didn’t? Didn’t she?”

“Didn’t she what?”

“Nothing,” he said, kind of sad. “Oh well. She said you didn’t talk; I didn’t realize that meant you didn’t talk at all. You and she didn’t talk at all?”

“Listen, Len, I don’t …”

“No, of course—not my business! Not my business. And honestly, it’s not that we spent a lot of time on it, but she seemed, much more than Bill, to have a kind of yearning, you know you should have called her, you really, oh well. You don’t have to answer that; I know things were complicated. She didn’t blame you, so who am I?” He seemed to think this was a point worth making, but at the same time he didn’t seem to want to continue our conversation. He glanced toward the kitchen, distracted.

“Look, could you, you know?” I was starting to get annoyed with this guy. Frankly, I was getting annoyed with just about everyone: Lucy, those shitheads who barged in on me while I slept, my mother, my ex-boyfriend Darren, everyone in New York City, the universe. “You know, whoever you are, Len, I think, uh, this isn’t a great time for me to visit, and I’m not sure what you’re doing here.”

“Sorry.” He smiled, suddenly looking down and dusting himself off, as if he remembered how actual people behave. “I’m being ridiculous, you’re right to be upset. Did you stay here last night? You must have. I’m so sorry for your loss, it must have been a terrific shock. Well, it was for all of us. Such a shame. She was a terrific person. I’m Len Colbert, and like I said, I was a friend of your mother and Bill’s. I live in the penthouse here on the top floor. Well, of course, it’s the top floor—that’s where penthouses are, aren’t they?” He laughed at himself. “I’d shake your hand, but mine are not presentable. I’m a, well, it’s complicated what I do.” He sighed. “Not complicated. I’m an anthropological botanist. I was, that is—I don’t teach anymore. But the, uh—the kitchen here—have you seen the kitchen?”