The Fifth Avenue Series Boxed Set (28 page)

Swinging out through the big brass and glass doors of Harold’s townhouse on 81st Street, Leana looked up at the buttery morning sun, felt the warmth on her face and decided she would walk to most of her appointments instead of taking a cab.
 
There were a few apartments in the Village she wanted to look at and she had to sell her jewelry to her mother’s jeweler on Park.

She was beginning to feel better about herself.
 
Not only had the bruises on her face faded and the cut on her lip healed, but she was full of resolve and a measure of hope.
 
For the first time in her life, she was doing something productive.
 
Soon, she would have an apartment of her own and enough money to furnish it comfortably.
 
At breakfast, Harold mentioned something about finding her a job.

And Mario was back in her life.

He called earlier that morning and asked her to dinner.
 
He said they needed to talk, that it was important they talk and that they must talk soon.
 
Leana agreed, but under the condition that she pay for the meal.
 
Although a part of her wanted much more than a friendship with Mario, Leana was determined to keep their relationship simple.
 
She would not sleep with Mario while he was married.

But I’ll think about it.

She continued walking until she came upon a crowded newspaper vending machine. The crowd shifted and she was able to glimpse the front page of
The Daily News
.
 
A chill went through her.
 
The headline and recent pictures of Eric Parker screamed out at her:

EX-REDMAN FINANCIAL CHIEF

BEATEN IN APARTMENT

Leana stared at the headline, then at the photos of Eric.
 
One showed him being wheeled out of the building on a stretcher.
 
She studied the fine lines of his face and saw that it was broken.

She remembered the shock of seeing Celina last night.
 
She remembered Mario’s men hurrying her away from the crowd and into a limousine.
 
She remembered the shrill of the ambulance as it raced past them.

She wondered what Celina was thinking this morning and decided she didn’t care.
 
I didn’t do anything to Eric.

Sensing someone standing behind her, she turned and faced a rugged-looking man in a dark suit and dark glasses.
 
His hair was black and cut short.
 
He was looking at the headline as well.
 

Their eyes met and he shook his head in disgust.
 
“You’re not even safe in your own home anymore,” Vincent Spocatti said.

The man seemed vaguely familiar to her.
 
She had the feeling that she’d seen him before, but couldn’t place where.

She shrugged. “Maybe he deserved it.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I happen to know the man,” Leana said.
 
“And I am serious.
 
He deserved it.”

And she started for the Village, leaving Spocatti intrigued.

*
  
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*

She had appointments to see two apartments—one studio and one loft.
 
It was the loft that caught Leana’s eye.

Overlooking Washington Square, her favorite place in New York, the loft was large and sunny and located on the fifth floor of a prewar building.
 
It had promise, and a few issues that could be fixed—it needed fresh paint, two of its windows were cracked and the carpet was worn and in need of updating.
 
Hardwood would work in here,
she thought.
 
Maybe polished concrete.

Despite its flaws, the loft had character, a sense of style.
 
Her mind began to picture plants, clean ivory walls, paintings.
 
I could make this place my own.

The owner of the building, a thin woman who hadn’t stopped smiling, was standing in the middle of the living space, making sweeping movements with her arms.
 
Copper bracelets winked and jangled.

“What furniture’s here is yours,” she said, as if that would tip the balance.
 
“The bed, the desk, the table and chairs—all yours.
 
Some freak artist left them and the smell of cat piss behind.
 
If I hadn’t had the carpets cleaned, you wouldn’t be able to stand it in here.” She wrinkled her nose, sniffed, and looked uncertainly at Leana. “You can’t smell the piss, can you?”

“I can smell it,” Leana said.
 
And I can smell your desperation.

She stepped over to a window and watched a group of children run past the empty fountain to a flock of pigeons.
 
The birds took flight in a dizzying cloud of gray and black and white, and the children cheered.
 
Leana thought back to the last day she had been in the park.
 
It was the day the bombs exploded on top of her father’s building.

It was the day the man had followed and harassed her.

The woman was standing behind her.
 
“Beautiful view, isn’t it?”

It was, and Leana said so.

“There was a time, on a clear day, that you could see to the World Trade Center.”
 
The woman actually stopped and genuflected.
 
She kissed her fingers and closed her eyes, as if to pray.

Leana was as sensitive as anyone about that day, the people who died there or were otherwise affected by it, but this was overkill.
 
This was a show.
 
Give me a fucking break.

The woman crossed her arms—jangle, jangle.
 
“So, what do you think?
 
It’s originally $20,000 a month, but you look like a nice girl, one who won’t cause me too many problems, so I’ll let you have it for $18,500—plus deposit.”
 
She snapped a piece of gum and looked up at the ceiling.
 
“That’s $37,000—up front, of course.”

Leana barely had that in her savings account.
 
She knew her financial situation would improve once she sold her jewelry, but she didn’t want to give any more money to this woman than she had to.
 
“That’s too much,” she said.
 
“Especially since your former tenant couldn’t keep his cats in check.
 
My price is $10,000.”

“No way,” the woman said.

“Then let’s get real.
 
You’ve got a problem here—take a whiff.
 
It’s the reason this place isn’t moving.
 
It’s the reason someone like me is going to have to get someone in here and get the smell out.
 
What’s your best price?”

The woman turned and when she did, she breathed in through her nose.
 
“No less than “$15,000.”

“Okay,” Leana said.
 
“So, $12,500 and you’ve got yourself a deal right now.
 
I’ll cut you a check for $25,000 and we’re both happy.”
 
Leana looked around the space.
 
“You also need to agree to repair those windows, pay for half the painting costs, and throw in a couple of fans.
 
Ironically, the air in here would kill a cat.”

The woman tried to look affronted, but Leana saw relief in her eyes.

“Fans, windows and paint I can handle.”
 

“I thought you could.”

She studied Leana for a moment.
 
“You’re tough.
 
And you’ve got a good business sense, too.
 
I like that in a woman.
 
What did you say your last name was again?”

“I didn’t,” Leana said.
 
“But it’s Redman.”

Something in the woman’s eyes flashed and she lifted her chin.
 
“I thought I recognized you,” she said.
 
“Are you as tough as you father and sister?”

“I’m tougher.”

“So, you are.”

She wrote the woman a check.

*
  
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*

Later, at the bank, she followed the assistant manager to a vault that was surrounded by rows of gleaming safe-deposit boxes.

As the man went to the back of the room and stooped to insert a key into one of the boxes, Leana remained in the doorway, thinking of the seven pieces of jewelry she kept here.
 
Although each was a major piece in its own right, nothing compared to the diamond and Mogok ruby necklace.
 
It was this piece that would fetch the highest price when she sold it later that afternoon.

It was this piece that would furnish her new apartment and buy her food.

The manager cleared his throat.
 
Leana looked at him and saw that he was waiting for her to insert her own key.
 
She apologized and crossed to where he was standing.
 
She unlocked her side of the box and carried it to the small table that was at her left.
 
The manager followed.

“I’d like to be alone,” Leana said.
 
The man’s gaze flicked up to hers.
 
Hesitation crossed his face and she sensed he wanted to stay and see what was inside the box.
 
He didn’t move.

“Do you mind?” Leana said.
 
The man bowed slightly and left the room.

Leana watched him go.
 
He went no further than the entrance to the vault, where he crossed his arms and watched her from there.

She turned her back to him and opened the box.

Inside were seven black velvet cases of various sizes.
 
Leana chose one of the cases, opened it and was greeted with a brilliant flash of diamonds.
 
She looked into another case and was rewarded with a glimmer of sapphires.
 
In the third was the diamond and Mogok ruby necklace.

She lifted the necklace from its case and held it to her neck.
 
Its coolness and the sheer weight of the stones warmed her.
 
For awhile, at least, you’re going to give me time to make my mark.
 

After checking the other cases and tucking them in her oversized straw handbag, she slid the box back into place, locked it and left the bank with an armed guard at her side.

The sun was bright and the heat was oppressive—it rising in waves from the street.
 
Three young boys on rollerblades darted through the crowds on the sidewalk, nearly toppling an elderly woman.

Leana wasted no time leaving.
 
She stepped to the curb, flagged a cab, got one on the fourth try and left for the jeweler on Park.

To be certain he wouldn’t lose her, Vincent Spocatti, who had been waiting for her outside the bank, did the same.

*
  
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