Authors: Tom Dolby
O
n Tuesday afternoon, Lauren ran into Claire Chilton in the ladies’ lounge at the Ralph Lauren store on Madison Avenue. The flagship store was housed in a Gilded Age mansion, and even its restrooms were gorgeous, with brass fixtures from England and lovely prints on the walls. Lauren had been shopping the post-holiday sales, which so far, had worked as a distraction.
Running into Claire had just ruined that for her.
“Funny seeing you here, Lauren,” Claire said. Lauren had forgotten how underneath her veneer of snobbery, Claire was, at heart, extremely awkward. What was funny about seeing her here? Not much.
Lauren gave Claire an icy stare before looking ahead at the mirrors. They weren’t at a Society event, and Lauren didn’t have to be nice to her. After all, Claire had never returned the favor.
“You were missed at the meeting last night,” Claire said as she washed her hands. “It was a lot of fun, hanging out at the pool. Strange how three people were all sick on the same night. None of you seemed sick at the memorial service for your boyfriend.”
Lauren shot her a look that said
How dare you bring up Alejandro?
but Claire continued.
“I overheard my mom talking and she said that in her day, they never had issues with things like attendance. People were so much more devoted to the cause.”
“The cause? What cause?” Lauren didn’t know what Claire was talking about.
“You know about the museum benefit, don’t you?” Claire started carefully drying her hands with a cloth towel she took from a basket.
Lauren shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
“You’ll find out soon enough. I think you’ll realize that the group is about much more than parties. It’s about helping make the world a better place.”
Lauren nodded noncommittally and examined her lip gloss in the mirror, as Claire leaned forward to meet her eye.
“I know that you all skipped the meeting together—you, Phoebe, and Thad,” Claire said. “Everyone knows. It’s completely obvious. You’d better be careful.”
“What are you going to do, Claire?” Lauren said. “Tell on me to your mom? Ruin my chances to get into the Junior League? Maybe it’s a big surprise to you, but I really don’t care about any of it. For some of us, our world is bigger than all that.”
Claire looked shocked, then confused, before gaining her composure again. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said as she patted down her straight hair.
Lauren leaned against one of the sinks and looked at the large oak door to make sure no one had entered. “Claire, hasn’t it ever occurred to you that this group is about a lot more than philanthropy and social opportunities? Haven’t you considered that it’s a truly evil group that we’ve all been indoctrinated into, and that we won’t truly be free until we leave it?” Lauren took a breath. She knew she was getting into risky territory here.
“I think you’re crazy,” Claire said. “There’s nothing evil about the group. My parents have been members since they were teenagers themselves. They’ve never said anything bad about it. What happened last semester were tragedies, but we can’t let that bring the group down. Chin up, Lauren. It’ll get better.”
Claire clasped her purse closed and started to move toward the door before turning around.
“Look, Lauren, I like you.”
“Oh, I’m so glad,” Lauren said as she tried to control her sneer.
Claire ignored her tone. “I think you should know that you guys are all on secret probation. There was a word my mother used:
Infidels
. They’re calling the five of you ‘the Infidels.’ Anyway, I hope to see you at the next meeting.”
“I’d rather eat broken glass,” Lauren said. She had never gotten this angry at someone like Claire before, but somehow it was all bubbling to the surface now.
Claire smiled, as if she hadn’t even heard what Lauren had said. “There’s really no reason, Lauren, that you have to ruin everything for yourself.”
T
he following morning, Phoebe woke up to a strange sound coming from above her. A rustling, then a squeaking.
She crawled out of bed and cautiously tiptoed in her bare feet up to the third floor of the town house. It was a floor she and her mother didn’t use much, except when Phoebe had been working on her art. Tatiana Lutyens-Hay, the sculptor friend they were house-sitting for, had a studio, and Phoebe had been storing some of her paintings and art supplies on the third floor.
When she reached the studio, Phoebe gasped, covering her mouth and stifling a scream.
The floor was covered in rats: huge, gray rats scurrying around the worktables and behind the file cabinets, crapping on the carpet and gnawing away at several of the canvases. Two of them ran between her legs, over her feet, and down the stairs.
“Mom!” Phoebe yelled, before remembering that her mother was staying with her boyfriend, Daniel, in Park Slope. Phoebe hadn’t minded her mother being away, until now.
She shut the door of the studio and ran downstairs to grab her phone. Who should she call first? Her mother? Nick?
Nick would be a better choice. Her mom probably wouldn’t believe her anyway.
She got him on the first try, grateful that he had set up a special ring for her on his phone.
“You what?” he said, still groggy. “Rats? Like real rats?”
Upstairs, the squeaking and scratching seemed to be getting louder.
“Yes!” she shouted. “Can you come over and help me? This is really freaking me out. I’ll call an exterminator.”
She grabbed her laptop, and after four tries, was able to get someone on the phone who could be there in half an hour. She put on shoes and waited in the kitchen.
Nick arrived twenty minutes later. He insisted on seeing the situation, though Phoebe didn’t want to go up there. Reluctantly, she followed him and peered through the cracked door. She could see why the rats were swarming. What looked like dog kibble had been dumped onto the floor, and the rats were gobbling it up. Someone must have snuck into the house the day before to dump the food and then released the rats early that morning. How could they have gotten in? Security at the town house wasn’t the best; there was a fire escape in the back, and Phoebe and Maia regularly left the windows unlocked. This had to be a major operation, though—there must have been at least fifty rats scurrying around the room.
Amidst the chaos, she could only imagine that the Society had done this to her. She felt like she was about to throw up as she thought of the implications of her suspicion.
“Did you get bitten?” Nick asked.
Phoebe grimaced. “I think I might have. I’m not really sure. Two of them ran over my feet.” She looked down. Inside the sneakers she had thrown on, her feet itched, though maybe it was only her anxiety causing this.
“We should get you to a doctor for some shots. After we get these little beasts out of here.”
The rats upstairs were too big to go under the door frame, but their squeaking seemed to carry through the entire house, a revolting, haunting echo.
“I don’t ever want to be barefoot again in this house,” Phoebe said. “This is so disgusting!”
The doorbell rang, and it was the exterminating team. They would be spreading traps and bait stations all over the town house, which would kill the rats, and then they would remove the bodies. The thought of it was vile.
It would also cost fifteen hundred dollars.
Nick handed over his credit card to one of the exterminators.
“You don’t have to do that,” Phoebe said. “My mom can cover it.”
“I feel like it’s my fault that it happened,” Nick said. “I shouldn’t have let you guys boycott the meeting.”
“You’re sure it was them?”
“Who else would it be?” Nick asked. “I’ve seen rats in New York City, but you usually get one or two in the basement, not a swarm on your third floor.”
“We all went along with it, Nick. It’s my fault as much as anyone’s.”
The guys started working on the problem, advising Nick and Phoebe that they might want to leave the house for a few hours. “I’ve got to warn you, you might want to call a cleaning service afterward,” one of the guys said. “We can get all the vermin out, but there’s still—well, there’s still everything they leave behind.”
“Like what?” Phoebe asked.
The guy made a face. “Rat droppings. They’re messy creatures.”
Phoebe sat down at the kitchen table and put her head into her arms, unable to process this last bit of information. “It’s like the worst part isn’t the actual rats—it’s that it gets inside your head.”
She started hyperventilating, as Nick tried to comfort her. “Let me get some clothes for you, and you can shower and change at my place. You can always stay there for a few days if you need to.”
“No, I don’t want to do that. We need to get this place cleaned up,” Phoebe said. “I feel like the longer we wait, the more nasty it’s going to get.”
“Should we just skip school?” Nick said. “I mean, you’re a mess.”
“I think we deserve it,” Phoebe said. “I know that I’m still completely exhausted.” It may have only been the third day of classes, but Phoebe felt a tiredness that ran so deep, she didn’t know if it would ever leave her.
Nick found a cleaning service that specialized in unusual situations, and within a few hours after the exterminators left, the studio was almost back to normal, though Phoebe’s paintings were still chewed up. Nick took her to her doctor, who gave her a series of shots, as she had a small bite on her foot.
By four
P.M.
, they were sitting at a neighborhood café, having a late lunch that was little comfort. Phoebe picked at her croque monsieur, but found she wasn’t hungry.
“This whole thing is so messed up,” she said. “You really think this is their way of telling us that we can’t miss a meeting? Wouldn’t it have been easier to send a note?”
Nick looked at her seriously. “Come on, Phoebe. Would a note really have had the same effect?”
N
ow that the semester had started, Lauren had resumed her internship at Giroux New York, though she had been promoted in her responsibilities after the success of her jewelry line in the fall. Not only was she designing the line, but she had been given the chance to work under the merchandising director in setting up the jewelry displays at the store. Giroux was always known for its elegant and creative displays: last year they had displayed jewelry inside giant fish tanks with real fish, and the year before, they had rented a grove of potted Japanese maples on which the pieces had hung.
On Wednesday afternoon, she met with Antonio, the merchandising director, about the display, and then went downstairs to the design library, where they kept a collection of reference books and magazines. The concept was the zodiac, with a different set of jewelry representing each astrological sign. She felt like she was hit in the gut when she got to the images for Leo, which was Alejandro’s sign.
His birthday would have been in August. Since they had met in September, she had never even gotten to celebrate his birthday with him. She gulped back her tears and tried to focus on her work.
About an hour into her research, the intercom buzzed. It was a salesgirl from the first floor. “Lauren, there’s someone here to see you.”
Lauren walked upstairs, wondering who it could be.
When she saw that it was Claire Chilton and her mother, she rolled her eyes, only realizing as she did it that she was fully in their view.
“Lauren,” Claire’s mother, Letty, said. “What a treat.”
Letty Chilton was a stout woman who was known for her personal frugality, even though she sat on the boards of several multimillion-dollar institutions and was known to give generously. She would wear Oscar de la Renta suits from the eighties until the elbows were nearly worn through, and she hadn’t redecorated their apartment since Claire had been born. Recently, however, her husband had come into a great deal of family money, and the word was that she was spending more freely. Still, the main thing Lauren always associated with her was that she stank of stale Chanel No. 5. Today was no exception.
Lauren greeted her and Claire civilly.
“I’m hoping you can help us out,” Mrs. Chilton said. “In fact, I
know
you can help us out. Claire needs some new clothes for the season, and I’ve heard you have the best eye.”
“Well, I can recommend you to a stylist,” she said. “I’m really focusing on the jewelry now.”
“That’s right, your little jewelry line,” Mrs. Chilton said. “So sweet.”
“We want your employee discount,” Claire said.
Mrs. Chilton glared at her daughter, and then smiled at Lauren. “We wouldn’t want to impose, of course.”
“You know, I’m really not supposed to do that,” Lauren said. “They don’t even let us use it all the time. And I’m not really a full-fledged employee.”
“Of course you’re not. So what does it matter? Anyway, we so appreciate it. I know you’ll do a marvelous job picking out some outfits for Claire.”
“Actually, I don’t really have time—”
“Thank you, Lauren.” Mrs. Chilton turned and walked away, as if the matter was settled and there was nothing more to discuss.
“I’ll give you the name of a stylist,” Lauren said to Claire. Lauren wrote a name down on a card and handed it to Claire. “If you want a discount, you’ll have to talk to Sebastian. Here’s his extension. He’d be happy to talk to you, I’m sure.”
After Lauren had said good-bye to Claire, she was fuming. How dare Claire march in there and demand that she serve her like a shopgirl? Even Lauren didn’t like using her employee discount too often for herself, as it made her look like a spendthrift in front of the other employees, who could barely afford clothes at a designer sample sale, let alone at Giroux. The thing that really annoyed Lauren was that Claire would probably get the discount from Sebastian, if she spent enough.
At the end of the day, after Lauren had finished her work downstairs and created a look board for the concept, there was a flurry of activity near the door.
Sabrina Harriman, the store’s creative director, stood near the front door. The store had closed for the evening, and the staff was getting ready to leave.
“People, listen up, we have a problem! The pair of limited-edition sapphire earrings is gone from the jewelry case. They were here this afternoon, so I don’t know what could have happened. We didn’t even show them to any customers.”
Everyone gasped. The sapphire earrings were one of the most expensive items in the entire store and were kept in a locked glass case. They retailed for four thousand dollars.
“I’m so sorry to have to do this,” Sabrina said, “but we’re going to need to search everyone’s bags before you leave.”
Lauren stood in line, annoyed that this would make her late in getting home. What kind of person would work at the store and steal a pair of earrings? Not only that, but a pair that would certainly be missed?
Lauren reached the front of the line. “Hey, Danny,” she said to the security guard. He was a sweet bear of a guy, and she had always made an effort to greet him by name. He took her bag.
“Sorry about this,” he said, muttering under his breath. His eyes suddenly opened wide. “Lauren, what the—”
“What?”
“Lauren!” He pulled out the earrings, still in their box, and held them up for Sabrina and everyone else to see.
“What!?” Lauren felt her neck growing hot. “That’s absurd!” She turned to Sabrina. “Sabrina, you know I would never do anything like this.”
She grabbed the earrings from Danny and handed the jewelry box back to Sabrina.
“Lauren, I don’t know what to say,” Sabrina said as she took the box.
Sebastian Giroux had come up from his office. “What is going on?”
“We have a problem here. Lauren, I’m afraid we might need to press charges.”
Lauren glared at her, though inside she was completely mortified. Someone must have planted the earrings in her bag while she was working. Her bag had been in her locker most of the afternoon. The lockers were in an employee staff area, and anyone could have gained access to it—that is, anyone with the master combination.
Who would have done it? One of the Society’s lackeys? A Giroux staff member? Sebastian himself? Sebastian was a member of the Society, but Lauren couldn’t imagine him doing this to her.
It didn’t matter who had done this; it only mattered that it had happened. She was being sent a message, just like the handbag she had received back in September. Only this time, it was a message of a different type: a spiteful reminder that she shouldn’t miss any more meetings.
“No charges will be pressed,” Sebastian said to his staff. “We’ll handle it internally. You can all go home for the night. Lauren, please stay behind so we can discuss this.”
Everyone filed out, a few of them giving Lauren sympathetic looks and others averting their eyes.
Lauren sat down on a chaise where customers usually tried on shoes. “Look, I am completely horrified, but you’ve got to believe me, I have no idea how those earrings got into my bag. It was in my employee locker for most of the afternoon—could someone have slipped them in there? I mean, come on, Sebastian, you know me. If I really wanted those earrings, I would have asked my mom to buy them for me. Why would I do something to jeopardize my relationship with the store?”
Sabrina shrugged.
“She’s right,” Sebastian said. “Sabrina, you and I can discuss this between the two of us. Good night, Lauren.”
Lauren zipped up her bag and slinked away. No one at the store would have done this to her. Even though Sebastian was in the Society, she knew that he liked her. The horrible thing, of course, about being accused of something like this was that even if you didn’t do it, you still felt guilty.
And that, she imagined, was exactly what the Society had wanted her to feel.