Under the Rose (30 page)

And it must have been nigh on impossible to go crawling home to his father and admit he couldn’t get a job the year he graduated from Eli. Sudden contrition overcame my usual disdain for the man seated across from me.

I leaned forward. “James, I’m so sorry—”

He slammed the book closed. “For Christ’s sake, stop calling me that!” He looked away, ran his fingers through his hair. “My name is Jamie. Always has been. Not Jim, or Jimbo, or James. Nobody calls me James.”

Jamie?
I sat back against my seat and digested this for a few moments. So Poe had financial issues at school. He was far from the first. Lydia’s dad got laid off from work her sophomore year, putting the whole family in pretty rough financial straits, and she didn’t become a misanthrope. She simply picked social activities that were free. Amazing how much fun you could have with some classmates and your college’s cracked Parcheesi set. Still, it explained a lot.

“I still think of you as Poe, you know. It suits you.”

He met my eyes and cracked a smile. A real smile. “Two dollars. And you don’t want to know what I think of you as.”

“I can probably guess.” I watched him open his book back up. “So, are things…better now?”

“Law school gives me a more reasonable living expenses budget,” he said, “but I’m not exactly carting around in high style.” He gestured to his outfit. “It’s okay, though. I’ll make it all back when I’m out of school. I’m going to work for some big firm for a while, get rich.”

“And then?”

He shrugged. “Politics. Provided I have any connections left after this little caper. Which looks unlikely. You still going to work in publishing?”

“I don’t know. I thought about it a lot this summer. I was working for—”

“Kelting’s think tank.”

“Right. We put together a little book of memoirs. Exprostitutes, illegal aliens caught up in the sex trade…. It was pretty powerful stuff. But it also made me realize how limited my education really is. Smollett et al. are fine, but I think I’ve got a lot more to learn.” I looked down the train car, at the gum-encrusted floor, anywhere but at Jamie. I hadn’t talked to many people about this. “I was thinking of maybe going to graduate school. Not necessarily for Literature. Maybe something else.”

“More school, more debt,” Poe said. “I don’t suggest going unless you have a clear plan in mind.”

Right. Way to pop that little bubble.

“Unless you
do
know what you want to do, and pretending you don’t is your way of getting around actually making the decision.”

“Pardon me?”

Poe put his feet up on my seat. “In undergrad, there was this type. Drove me crazy. They would always act coy about it, but what they wanted to do was go into politics. And not the government-appointee kind like Josh or me or even Kurt Gehry. They wanted to run for office. But somehow, they believed that
saying
they wanted to run for office was some sort of ego trip that signified they shouldn’t.”

“I don’t want to run for office.”

“Not saying you do. But maybe you want to be a social worker, or a teacher, but won’t admit it because you’re afraid people won’t think it’s lofty enough for an Eli grad.”

“If I thought that, you’re precisely the type of person who I’d be afraid of judging me.”

He put his hand to his chest. “I’m the son of a gardener.”

“You’re a Digger at the best law school in the country.”

“You’re a Digger at the best university in the country.”

“Even more reason to aspire to greatness.”

He laughed. “Someday, go look through the roster of the patriarchs. See what they all do for a living. You may be surprised. We’ve even got a garbageman.” He opened his book again. After a page or so, he added, “My mom was a social worker.”

“Did she retire?”

“She died.”

And that pretty much killed the conversation. We rode the rest of the way into New York City in silence, and I even managed to doze off for a little while. I don’t know how many pages Poe read, and I can’t be sure, but I think the humidity in the car must have done wonders for the squeakiness of his highlighter, because it completely stopped making noise.

We arrived at Grand Central Station, and Poe deciphered the tangle of subway lines while I ran into a nearby shop to grab a couple of umbrellas. Though the tunnels were warm, to judge from the streams of icy water leaking through the cracks and dripping down the subway stairwells, it was a real bitch of a day outside. One switch to the F train later, and we were on the LES. (Lower East Side—I can swing the lingo with the best of them.)

“So what’s the plan?” I asked Poe as we picked our way through the puddle-riddled streets.

“I don’t have one. I thought we’d go up to the apartment and knock, see what happens.”

“Sounds brilliant.” I rolled my eyes.

“That I am.” We turned the corner. Jenny’s building was a grungy, graffiti-sprayed five-story job with a bodega on the first floor. Whatever gentrification may have swept through the Lower East Side recently had skipped this particular spot, which didn’t mean Jenny had acquired it any more cheaply. I wonder if her parents, or even her ersatz boyfriend (you know, the one nursing his glass jaw) knew about her little hideaway. According to Poe, his club hadn’t been aware of Jenny’s apartment during their deliberation process, so it must be a relatively recent development.

We entered the vestibule and buzzed Jenny’s apartment, but there was no answer. There was no name on the tiny mailbox slot, either. With nothing to lose, I pressed the other buttons. After a second, there came a muffled response.

“Delivery,” I said, and the door buzzed open. I smiled at Poe. “You aren’t the only one with little tricks up your sleeve.”

A middle-aged man in a work shirt streaked with grease stuck his head over the banister. “Mind telling me what you want?” he said, lumbering down the steps and wiping off his hands with a towel. “You don’t look like you got a package.”

“Are you the super here?” I asked. “We’re looking for the resident of 4A. Ada Lovelace?”

“Never met her.” He shrugged. “She leased the place a couple months ago, when the new owner took over. But I don’t think she’s here much.”

“Do you know if she’s been in this weekend?”

“Look, girly, why don’t you and your boyfriend—”

“We’re not trying to start a fight,” said Poe, stepping forward. “We merely wanted to leave this note for her.” He held out a small card emblazoned with the Rose & Grave seal.

The man’s eyes went wide, and he looked at us each in turn. “Who are you guys?”

“Who do you think we are?”

“Couple of punks.” The super nodded at the card. “You’re the second crew to come in here waving that symbol around like I should care. What are you, a gang?”

“You don’t know what this symbol means?” asked Poe, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice.

The guy shrugged. “Some
Da Vinci Code
crapola. I don’t give a shit. Now, why don’t you get out of here before I throw you out.”

Back on the street, Poe kicked at the cornerstone. “I don’t get it. The D-bomb usually works like a charm.”

“Maybe in New Haven,” I said. “And
D-bomb
?”

“Drop the Digger name into a conversation and see how quickly your way is smoothed for you,” Poe said.

“Isn’t that against the secrecy policy?”

Poe lifted his shoulders. “What’s the point of power if you can’t use it every once in a while? The policy of the society is to fly under the radar, it’s true, but they do occasionally throw their weight around.”

“You mean like last spring when they made us lose all our internships?” I looked back at the building. “Well, we don’t seem to have much influence here. Plus, I’m about to freeze or fall asleep standing up—possibly both. So let’s continue this conversation in the nearest coffee shop, okay?”

Poe sighed. “Fine. Let me run around the corner real quick and see what the fire-escape situation looks like. If I can get up there—”

“Whatever, Spider-Man.” But I couldn’t help smiling.

“I have some skills you aren’t aware of, Miss Haskel. Anyway, if I can’t jimmy the window, I can at least peep inside.”

“And get yourself shot and/or arrested?”

“Just let me look. I’ll be back in two seconds. Don’t drown while I’m gone, okay?” He winked and took off.

I ducked under the bodega’s canopy and rubbed my arms through my coat. I should have brought gloves. I should be in bed right now, curled up with the fall issue of the Lit Mag. Damn Jenny. Okay, that was it. I needed coffee
now.
I went inside the shop. Ghost town, like the rest of the street on this ugly day. The guy behind the counter was watching daytime television, and there was a young truant in a black wind-breaker shoplifting candy in the corner. “Small coffee, please,” I said to the attendant. “Actually, make it two.”

The guy nodded and went to pour the cups. He looked over at the boy. “Buddy, gonna buy something?”

The boy picked up two PowerBars. “Yeah,” he mumbled.

But it was enough. I turned my head toward the kid with the familiar voice, who looked up, facing me fully. “Oh my God…”

“So,” Jenny said, “you found me.”

I hereby confess:

I’m not proud of myself.

16.

D-Bomb

“Where the hell have you been!” I cried.

“Amy—”

“What the hell happened to you!”

“Please, just calm—”

“I thought they fucking kidnapped you, do you know that?”

“I know,” she said, and her eyes went from me to the attendant, to the door.

“How do you know? What the hell, Jenny? What were you thinking? Your
hair
was left on our
stoop
!”

“I wasn’t…just—I wasn’t, okay?” She lifted her hands. “Who is that with you?” she asked. “Poe?”

“You know what?” I said, walking toward her and stabbing my finger at her raincoat. “I’m not even going to say you’re fined for that. You’re a traitor!” Now that I saw she was safe (though shorn), all of my inner rage decided to have a coming-out party. “How could you? You manipulative, lying, oath-breaking bitch! How could you!”

“Whoa,” said the guy behind the counter. “You’re a chick! Weird. Wait, is this some kind of butch lesbian thing?”

“Amy, wait a second!” Jenny grabbed my hands in both of hers. “I’m—” She took a deep breath. “I’m really scared. And I want to talk to you, but…” She looked out the window. “Not with him there, okay? I can’t stand that guy.”

“Well, he can’t stand you, either,” I snapped. “And though I may have been on your side about that a few days ago, now I think I’m on his.”

“Amy.” She squeezed my hands. “Please. Help. Me.”

Jenny may not pay attention to her oaths, but I still did. Okay, so I sucked at secrecy. So I didn’t always completely trust or love my brethren. I was still there to help them out when they needed me.

And this chick needed me.

“Jenny, what am I supposed to say? That you’ll talk, but only to me? That’s a little
NYPD Blue,
don’t you think?”

“No, you can’t tell him I’m here at all. Please? I don’t trust him.”

This, coming from the traitor with the secret apartment and the false name. “I don’t have a particularly high opinion of the people you
do
trust.”

Jenny maneuvered herself behind the Cheetos display. “Right now, there’s only one person who fits that description and she’s standing in front of me.”

“Then strike what I just said.” I looked out at the street. Poe was probably already searching for me.

“Get rid of him, okay?” She thrust a restaurant postcard at me. “Then meet me here.”

“Absolutely not!” I said. “You’ve been missing for two days and you think I’m letting you out of my sight? Forget it.”

“Amy, I swear—”

“Bullshit. I don’t believe anything you swear. Not after what you did.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I swear. I swear on the Bible.” She reached behind her neck and unclasped her crucifix and chain. “Here. This was my grandmother’s. Take it as assurance that I’ll meet you. But don’t tell Poe about me. Please. There’s a lot going on you don’t know.”