Birthday Girls (14 page)

“Devon said you are doing some research.”

She leaned forward and made a tent of her long, coral-polished fingernails. “I have a character who needs to change her identity. Devon suggested you might be familiar with how I can make it happen.”

“I can’t imagine why he would think that. As much as I hate to disappoint you, I am an insurance investigator, not a cloak-and-dagger specialist.”

She reached into her leather bag and pulled out an envelope, from which she extracted two five-hundred-dollar bills. Leaning forward, she set them on the desk in front of him.

He looked at the bills, then back at Kris. Slowly, Mo Gilbert stood and tucked them in the pocket of his Brooks Brothers suit pants. “Perhaps we should take a walk around the atrium. You might enjoy seeing the renovations Mr. Trump has made to the place.”

Two hours
later, up in her penthouse, Kris stood in the shower, lathered her tingling, satisfied body, and reminded herself to thank Devon for the introduction. She mused that after she became a mother things would be different; she would never, after all, even
think
of entertaining men in her bedroom with a white-lace nursery in the next room. But for now, there was no need to change.

Exhilarated and happy, Kris decided to catch a train. Maybe she could find Abigail at the health club and tell her in person of their date with Mo Gilbert tomorrow.

She stepped out of the shower and toweled off. Looking in the steamy mirror, she resolved that before leaving there was one phone call she needed to make. One phone call, for herself.

“You’ll never
get me into one of those thongs,” Maddie growled at Abigail. “My ass would never forgive me.”

“You won’t say that when you’ve shed thirty pounds
and your thighs are firm,” Abigail responded as she pulled on her leotards and tied back her hair.

Maddie glanced around the mauve-and-gold locker room that looked more like the lounge at a spa. They were at the most exclusive health club in Westchester; Andrew had blocked off his afternoon for Abigail and her needy friend. She’d expected that he would have come to the manor, but Abigail said she had always preferred to go to the club, preferred to feel a part of the real world—the world that perspired. Maddie mused at the thought that if this was what Abigail called real sweat, she was going to have a difficult time in her new life.

“Well, I know one thing,” she said, tugging a long, gray T-shirt over baggy sweatpants. “It’s hard to trust anyone who wears Spandex.”

“Maddie!”

“It’s true, Abigail. Put an average woman in Spandex and she stops walking and starts prancing.”

“Excuse me, but I’m wearing Spandex.”

“I never said you were average.”

Abigail sighed. “Well, I’m about to see if it’s possible.”

The idea of Abigail living as a commoner was as alien to Maddie as the thought of a thong up her butt. “Have you thought it all out?” Maddie asked. “Like how you’ll live? What you’ll do for money?”

Abigail zipped up her bag and tossed it into a locker. “Let’s not talk about it here, okay?” she said with a wink. “The walls have ears, and Andrew is waiting.” She strutted across the thick carpet toward the door marked “gym.”

Maddie stretched out her T-shirt, sighed, then ambled off after her, waddling toward her dream.

Andrew
was merciless. He was muscular and hard and incredible great-looking. And he was merciless. Maddie
had done endless reps on an unending number of weight machines, hiked on the treadmill, climbed up the stair machine. It seemed as though she’d been working out for weeks. It had only been forty-five minutes.

“We’ll start you off slow,” the merciless master had announced. “Build up your endurance.”

But Maddie’s muscles already ached. The back and the front and the armpits of her T-shirt were soaked; her calves throbbed, her shoulders hurt. And she wasn’t certain, but she thought she might be getting another damn headache. After bicycling what seemed like from Westchester to Manhattan and back, she begged for a break. “I’m old and I’m fat,” she whined. “And I do not need to fit into a size 6 by tonight.”

Andrew smiled. “Rest for ten minutes. Then I’ll meet you in the aerobics room.”

Maddie slumped down on the thick blue mat and looked over at Abigail, who merrily continued her bicycle trek without a drop of perspiration on her face.

“No pain, no gain,” Abigail said as she slowed her peddling and then alighted from the bike, her thong still firmly in place, not swallowed up by the cleavage of puckery cheeks. She joined Maddie on the mat. “This will be worth it, Maddie. You’ll see.”

Maddie turned her back against the wall of mirrors. Her reflection made it difficult to believe that anyone, let alone Parker, would ever want Maddie Daniels in their life. “He’s the only man I ever loved,” she said, then snorted, “hell, he’s the only man who ever loved me.” She did not mention her father because that kind of love, of course, had been different.

“Well, this is the first step.”

A young, Spandex-clad woman pranced past them. Maddie thought of Sharlene. “Do you think I’m crazy?” she asked Abigail.

“No. I think what’s crazy is to not go for what you want. It’s taken me too many years to realize that.”

“Kris has always known it. Kris has always done exactly what she’s wanted.”

“Don’t say anything bad about me; I’m right behind you.”

Maddie and Abigail turned. Slim, gorgeous Kris stood there, looking as if this was the last place she needed to be. “Gee, if I’d known working out was this easy, I’d have done it long ago.” She sat down beside them.

“Very funny,” Maddie said. “My body’s been to hell and back and you make jokes.”

Kris laughed. “No jokes. I’ve come all the way up here bearing good news. We’ve got our man.”

Abigail frowned. “What?”

“Our man. You and I have a date tomorrow morning with the man who’s going to give us what you need,” she said to Abigail.

Abigail gasped. “So fast?”

“Hey, I do my job.”

“You mean …” Maddie began, then the warning look from Abigail stopped her. “Right, I know. The walls.”

“I have a meeting with Larry at my office tomorrow. Downtown,” Abigail said.

“Schedule him for after ten.”

“But …”

Kris smiled. “Excuse me, but I believe you’re still his boss.”

Abigail nodded. “Right. So where are we meeting this man?”

“You’re not going to believe this. The Staten Island ferry.”

Maddie laughed. “God, how very Mike Hammer.”

“Let’s hope,” Abigail said with a slow breath, “that he’s half as good.”

Just at that moment Andrew appeared again. “Maddie?” he called. “I believe you have a date in the aerobics room?”

Maddie groaned. “Well, girls, I’m off to more torture.” But as she stood up a slight spinning swirled in her head. She leaned against a treadmill, wondering if she’d really see her dream come true or if she’d be dead before fifty after all.

She did
not die. After leaving the health club Maddie took the long way home, past the synagogue where she and Parker had been married. She stopped the car at the curb and stared at the tan brick building, remembering the ceremony, remembering the guests and the rabbi and the bird seed stuffed in silk roses, remembering the future she had been so excited about.

She remembered the way he had held her hand. She remembered the way he had kissed her lips and pledged his love. Right there. In front of God and everyone.

And now, it could happen again.

There, on the steps, she could stand once more with Parker. They would wear formal white this time, not jeans and long beads.

And they would have two witnesses—Bobby and Timmy: Bobby, short and sturdy like Parker, with Parker’s wit and Parker’s charm; Timmy, squat and quiet, within himself. Timmy, the photographer, like her. The boys would be dressed in tuxedos with red carnations in their lapels, which they would hate but would wear to please her.

Sophie would wear aqua, of course, because it looked prettiest with her snow-white hair. And Maddie would have Abigail prepare the food. That would please Sophie and would temper any misgivings her mother might have.

Taking the camera from her bag, Maddie carefully removed the lens cap and aimed at the synagogue. It did not matter that no people stood there as yet.

Click.

She slipped the camera back into her bag and realized she’d have to remind herself that, like her other “personal” film, she must not let Timmy develop this roll. She didn’t need her son asking questions.

Abigail
couldn’t believe she was wearing sunglasses and had a huge scarf wrapped around her head. As she tiptoed up the ramp onto the Staten Island ferry, she felt as though she might as well be wearing a sign that read “Woman traveling incognito.” Thankfully this was New York City, where no one cared. Jackie Onassis had walked around for years in sunglasses and a scarf and was only noticed by those on the lookout. But no one would be looking for Abigail yet, because no one would imagine that she’d have any reason to hide.

Kris was already there. After a brief, sidelong glance, she quickly turned and looked out at the skyline. “It could have been more melodramatic, I suppose,” she said quietly. “We could have had rain and fog.”

Abigail stepped up to the railing. “You recognized me.”

“The world would recognize you, girl. Remind me to give you some training in covert operations.”

“I was nervous. I didn’t think it wise for anyone to see me talking with a … desperado.”

Kris laughed. “Mo Gilbert is hardly a desperado. He’s a
tall, handsome white man who works as an insurance investigator and has an office in Trump Tower. And he is positively great in the sack.”

“Kris! You slept with him?”

“I did it for you, girl.”

“I doubt it.”

Beneath them, the ferry began to shudder as it chugged from the pier.

“He’s not coming,” Abigail said.

“Patience,” Kris answered.

Halfway to the island, a white-haired man approached. “Nice morning,” he said.

“Very,” Kris answered, her eyes glued on the skyline. “This is my friend. The one who needs your help.”

Abigail looked at the man in the un-Mike-Hammer-like gray Dior suit, the man who was going to help change her life.

Kris moved aside, and he stepped between them.

“What sort of credentials do you want?”

“Credentials? I don’t know … what will I need? Kris?”

“The package: License. Social Security number. Passport.”

Abigail glanced around to see if anyone was listening. Heads were buried in newspapers. Small groups of people talked over cardboard coffee cups. No one seemed to be paying any attention.

“Master Card or Visa?”

“I’ll pay you in cash, Mr. Gilbert.”

The man chuckled. “No. I mean, would you prefer a Master Card or Visa.”

“Oh. Both, I guess.”

“And a resumé,” Kris added.

“Resumé?” Abigail asked.

“You’ll need to have a background. Have you thought about what you’d like to be?”

Abigail’s thoughts whirled. This was too much. It was
all too much. “I don’t know. A cook maybe. Or a chef. I don’t think I can do much of anything else …”

Mo Gilbert nodded. “Done. What about your looks? You can’t go around in sunglasses and a scarf the rest of your life. Plastic surgery?”

“No thanks. Had enough.”

“Then dye your hair brown. Cut it short. Get brown contacts.”

“How much is this going to cost me?”

“That depends. When do you need it?”

“Oh,” Abigail said. “Well, I’m not sure. I’m not in a real hurry … there are a couple of things that need taking care of first.” She did not mention Kris, Maddie, or their birthday wishes.

He straightened his lapels and hoisted up the beltless waist of his pants. “We’re talking twenty grand. With the resumé.”

“Twenty thousand dollars?”

“You’ll be able to go anywhere. Do anything. These aren’t black market credentials. They’re foolproof.”

Abigail nodded, absorbing the impact of his words.

“Ms. Kensington knows how to find me.”

Abigail stared out across the harbor, wondering if she really could go through with this, if she really had the nerve. The idea of disappearing—of leaving Edmund, her career, and Windsor-on-Hudson—was one thing; but to actually do it …

She opened her mouth to ask Mo Gilbert how much time he would need after her final decision, but when she turned he was gone. She looked at Kris.

“Twenty grand,” Kris said, “is a small price to pay for a new life.”

A steamer slugged its way across their wake. Abigail noticed the sailors standing on deck and wondered if they once had lives they’d relinquished for the sea. She wondered
if they were as happy as she assumed she would be … as she
would
be once the albatross of responsibility was lifted from her gold-chained neck. “Thanks, Kris,” she said with renewed resolve. “I couldn’t do this without you. I wish I could do something to help you. To help make your wish come true.”

“Grow a penis,” Kris said with a laugh. “That might help.”