Alligators in the Trees (38 page)

“Why not? They’ve got some nice stuff.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Priscilla murmured in his ear, as they rode the escalator single file. “This place is not exactly in my price range.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll make it my treat,” he said cavalierly, heading purposely for the nearest rack. Within minutes, Tobias had sent an armload of dresses to the dressing room for Priscilla to try on.

“Okay, that’s probably enough to get you started,” he said, indicating she should follow the salesgirl. “I’ll be right over here,” he told her, pointing to a plush loveseat. Priscilla obediently followed the pretty young woman.

Once alone, she stared at the assemblage of finery Tobias had picked out for her. She looked at each piece as if she had no idea what to do with it. There were six dresses in all: filmy silk chiffon numbers with floating tatters or an irregular hemline, a couple of cotton sundresses of surprisingly demure cuts, a sleeveless linen dress with a pleated skirt, and a slinky black thing, apparently meant to be worn at night.

Priscilla sat down, unable to bring herself to get undressed.
What am I doing here?
she thought. These things were not for her. These were dresses for women who had lunch in small French restaurants, who carried miniature dogs no bigger than an evening bag, and had names like Buffy or Min. She would look absolutely ridiculous in any one of these things.

She was about to abandon ship, when she felt a pang of guilt. It would be rude to say no to the lot of them without having tried anything on. She reached for one of the silk dresses, catching a look at the price tag.

“Fourteen hundred bucks for this?!”
she cried under her breath. She put it right back on the hook and grabbed one of the cotton sheaths.
“Eighteen hundred!
That’s outrageous! It’s a simple cotton dress,” she muttered, disgustedly checking each price tag. There wasn’t a dress in the bunch for less than $950.

Priscilla stood back, uncertain what to do. There was no way in hell she was going to let Tobias shell out that kind of cash for one trendy dress. She objected to the idea on principle alone.

Plus, she didn’t want to feel any more beholden to him than she already did. It was bad enough he knew all her future plans had been made possible by his check for fifteen grand. There was no way she was going to let him dress her in high-society rags so she could follow him around like some sort of charity specimen.

She left the dresses where they hung and barged out of the dressing room, running into the salesgirl
in her haste to escape.

“Did nothing work out?” she inquired, dismayed by Priscilla’s empty hands.

“Uh…no. I didn’t like the way they looked on,” Priscilla claimed with blasé disappointment, pushing past her. Tobias saw her coming and stood, the smile of anticipation fading as she got closer.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as she came to a halt in front of him.

“Can we just get out of here? I’m not really in the mood to try on clothes right now.”

“No problem.”

“I just feel really tired all of a sudden.”

“Let’s go. We can go crash for a couple of hours and then try it again, if you want,” he suggested.

“You know, I really should go catch the train to Florida,” she said, her eyes straying away from Tobias’s.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice edging toward shrill. “You’re not going to Florida tonight…”

“That was always the plan,” Priscilla said, still not wanting to meet his gaze.

“The plan’s been changed, remember?” She shifted nervously and finally turned to look him straight in the eye.

“You don’t want to go and sit on a train for what—a day and a half—do you? Come on, let’s go back to my hotel and get a little rest. We can go through all your options later, after you’ve had time to recuperate. You’re just feeling a sugar crash, that’s all,” he said plaintively, trying to get a nod of acquiescence out of her.

Priscilla let out a long sigh and abandoned her plans of leaving town yet again. Tobias took her by the elbow and tried to usher her toward the escalator.

“I don’t like the idea of crashing in your hotel room,” she said, stalling their progress.

“It’s not a room, it’s a suite,” Tobias corrected her. “It’s got three large bedrooms with en-suite bathrooms. You might as well take advantage of it. We can work it so we don’t even run into each other, if it’ll make you feel better. C’mon.”

Priscilla faltered while she reviewed her situation. What were her options? Slug her way over to Penn Station and board a southbound train, an idea she wasn’t altogether sure of anymore; or go rest in the reclusive rocker’s hotel suite and then figure out what to do next. Not much debate needed to settle that decision.

“Lead the way,” she said.

Philip watched his sleeping daughter from the doorway before turning out the light. He closed her door, leaving it open enough so he could hear her if she called out, and crept softly down the hallway. There was one floor lamp on and he turned it off. He was in a black mood, so it was only fitting for him to sit in the dark.

He felt the urge for a drink—a large one—but he didn’t possess the required initiative to go over and pour himself one. Instead, he lowered his weary body into the low-slung chair and sat and stared at nothing.

“I’m such a damned fool,” he said into the darkness. Ever since Caitlin had innocently disclosed the deceitful behavior of his almost ex-wife and his rat-fink attorney, Philip had been able to think of little else. He had vacillated back and forth between wanting to believe there was some perfectly reasonable explanation for Martin driving Marianne to the airport and wanting to wring both their necks. At the moment, he was as disgusted with himself as he was with either of them. And just when life was starting to make sense again…

He had been too preoccupied with saving his building to heed the alarms set off by Marianne’s phone call earlier that day. Right away he should have suspected she was up to something. As much as she liked to portray herself as the kind and selfless daughter, Marianne would never interrupt her weekly schedule of lunch dates and salon visits to rush off to the aid of her parents. The whole concept was more akin to science fiction than it was to truth.

He wasn’t sure Marianne even
liked
her parents. Sending them the obligatory checks and gifts was more for show than a gesture of true affection. And when it came right down to it, what value did Caitlin add to her life other than the social connections that grew out of having a child in the right schools? Hadn’t she just dropped her parental responsibilities in a heartbeat to run off with a married man? The fact that the man in question was the scumbag of an attorney who was supposed to have
his
best interest at heart only made her selfish act more deplorable.

The veins in Philip’s neck throbbed with agitation and his mind whirred. If he continued on with this line of thought, pretty soon steam would start pouring from his ears. He catapulted out of the chair and went to stand by the glass door overlooking the patio.

If he didn’t have Caitlin in his care, he’d be out trying to walk off his frustrations, though in this case he’d probably end up in Brooklyn before that happened. He finally resorted to the next best thing, pouring himself a highball glass filled halfway with a thirteen-year-old scotch, which he took with him out on the deck.

There was only one way to end the vicious circle of thoughts parading through his head, and that was by formulating a plan of retaliation. Revenge would be the only satisfaction for the treachery Marianne was putting him through. And he would be very subtle in his delivery.

But before he put a lot of effort into plotting, he was going to make absolutely sure Marianne was not telling the truth. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled down to his in-laws’ number.

“Irene? I hope I’m not waking you,” Philip said when his mother-in-law answered on the third ring.

“Philip, is that you?” Irene asked, uneasiness in her voice. “Nothing’s wrong, I hope.”

“No, no—nothing’s wrong on our end. But I hear Herb’s not doing so well.”

“Well, you know how it is—the older you get, the more you start to fall apart,” Irene said, a light tinkle of a laugh coming across the line. Bless her heart, Philip thought, trying to put on a brave face for his sake.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, half disappointed that Marianne hadn’t been lying after all. It would have assuaged his wounded sense of fairness to nail her for something. “What do the doctors say?” he asked, sitting down in a nearby chair.

“Oh, you know, the same old thing. ‘Don’t work so hard, hire someone to do the heavy chores,’ that kind of thing. ’Course, you know Herbert—head as hard as a rock. I’ve told him at least fifty times not to mow the grass with that rusty old push mower—use the fancy tractor mower you and Marianne gave him. But no, he’s got to do everything the hard way.”

“Surely he hasn’t done any of that lately,” Philip said.

“He was up at sunrise this morning—pushed that damned contraption till I went out and made him stop,” Irene said, obviously delighted to have someone to complain to. But what she was saying couldn’t be possible.

“Irene, what exactly is wrong with Herb?” he asked.

“Rheumatism, same as always. ’Course, if he took his medicine like the doctor tells him, he wouldn’t get so stiff and swolled up.”

“You mean there’s nothing seriously wrong with him?”

“Only in the head,” Irene said smartly.

“Nothing life threatening?”

“No, darlin’. Other than the rheumatism, your father-in-law is as healthy as an ox.” Philip stared out into the dark shadows of the park, a bright, blood red coloring his vision.

“Well, that’s certainly a relief to hear,” he said with all the false cheerfulness he could muster. “Well, I know it’s late, I won’t keep you…”

“How are you doing, son? I know you’ve had an awful lot of trouble on your plate lately,” Irene said, her voice tinged with genuine concern.

“Actually, things are starting to look up for me,” he said, evil thoughts of retribution lightening his mood.

“I’m so glad to hear that, dear. And how is my sweet granddaughter?”

“Caitlin is just fine. She’s a constant joy to her old man, that’s for sure.”

“I know she is, hon. Well, you give her a great big kiss from her granny, will ya? Tell her I hope she can come out and stay with us sometime during the summer. You think that’ll be possible? It’s been ages since she was out here,” the old woman said. It sounded as though she was on the verge of tears.

“You bet. I’ll give you a call in a week or so and we can set something up, okay?”

“You’re an angel. I don’t guess my daughter ever did deserve a man as good as you.” Philip was about to say goodnight, but he had to ask one more question in order to be certain he wasn’t jumping to the wrong conclusion.

“Irene, do you mind if I ask you when was the last time you spoke to Marianne?”

“No, I don’t mind. It was about a month ago, I suppose. I’m afraid we had words again. Haven’t heard from her since. Guess I’ll have to give her a call one of these days… Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason—just wondering. Well, give Herbert my best.”

“I sure will, darlin’. Take care of yourself, now.”

“You too, Irene.”

Philip closed his phone and took a swig of his drink. That settled it. Now it was time for serious scheming.

Priscilla opened her eyes and sat up with a start. For one awful second, she couldn’t figure out where she was. One glance to her right confirmed she had fallen asleep in Tobias Jordan’s suite, with the maestro himself asleep on the other sofa. One thing was clearly evident: she was still feeling the effects of too much champagne at lunch.

She brushed her hair out of her face and smacked the sides of her face, as if she were trying to slap some sense into herself.
So much for charting a new course for myself,
she thought morosely, acknowledging for the second time in a week she had let some man talk her out of doing what she wanted to.

She had been in this town for twelve years, and now that she had made up her mind to leave, these two men come crawling out of the woodwork and insisted on her staying. Where the hell were Philip Glessner and Tobias Jordan a year ago? She was at such a low point after giving Ryan his walking papers, she might have welcomed their manic interest in her. But now was not a convenient time for strange flirtations.

But timing wasn’t the only problem with either of these guys; there was also the small matter of them both being married men. It wasn’t as if she objected to the idea of dating a married man on principle, nor was she one of those women who are automatically sympathetic to the betrayed spouse. She didn’t like dating married men because she found them to be more conflicted and less stable than the non-married variety, who were bad enough to begin with.

True, Philip was in the process of getting a divorce; she had read that in the paper with her own eyes. But Tobias wasn’t. Whatever sort of “arrangement” he had with his wife had to be more complicated than she’d ever get him to admit. A so-called ‘open marriage’ was nothing but a hoax that some married couples liked to perpetrate on themselves and unsuspecting bystanders.

Not that Tobias was romantically interested in her. She didn’t harbor that delusion. But there was no arguing that he did seem quite keen on her company, for what reasons, she couldn’t fathom. It was almost sad to think someone of his fame had to resort to under-the-radar friendships with the likes of her. It made her feel lonely for both of them.

It also made her crave a different scene, a less impersonal and hostile locale, where the sheer numbers of bodies didn’t overwhelm her into feeling like she was nothing. She looked over at Tobias sprawled across the sofa, sleeping like a baby. Was this kind of anonymous interlude just standard operating procedure for him?

Priscilla sighed and shook her head. The most perplexing part of her current situation was how natural and comfortable it felt to be with him. Aside from the awkwardness at Bergdorf’s, the rest of the time she felt as though she were hanging out with a lifelong pal—not that she had any lifelong friendships, but if she had, this is what she’d expect them to be like.

Belatedly, she became aware that her mouth was so parched, her tongue was sticking to the backsides of her teeth. She stood and was rewarded with a dull throbbing in the back of her head. She stretched cautiously and went in search of the kitchen.

On her way, she discovered the day had become night—eight-thirty at night, to be exact. She found a bottle of water in the refrigerator and took it back to the living room, where she sat down on the coffee table and studied the recumbent rock star.

It was strange to be in such close proximity to someone of his stature, especially while he was sleeping. She tried to remember her impressions of him before he wandered into Frank’s one morning, and compared them to what she had witnessed first-hand.

There was no comparison; the two versions didn’t bear any resemblance to one another. Not that she had known all that much about the reclusive musician prior to waiting on him, nor did she know a lot about him now. But those fleeting glimpses of him during his heyday portrayed a singularly confident and aloof man, obsessed with making music, with very little interest outside his career.

The fact that he’d been married for over a decade made him seem more of an enigma to her: more closed-in and inaccessible somehow. It was apparent he was very focused on music, but after spending the day with him carousing and carrying on, she found him to be more multi-faceted and a lot less driven.

She was curious to see what plan he would suggest once he finally woke up. She was getting the impression he was one of those feckless souls who could be carried off by the next breeze. Capricious was a good way to describe him. Capricious and indulgent.

She peered at his face, taking in all the details. It was funny to think she had a major crush on him when she was growing up. She had spent hours staring at
Absent Among Us
album covers, trying to glean a good look at him, trying to read the thoughts behind the dark glasses…

“Jesus Christ! You scared the hell out of me,” Tobias yelped, coming awake without warning. Priscilla nearly fell backwards off the coffee table, sloshing water all over herself as she recoiled.

“Likewise,” she said, standing up to swipe at her doused clothing.

“What were you doing?” Tobias asked peevishly, sitting up, his face warped by sudden wakefulness.

“Nothing. I just couldn’t tell if you were asleep or not,” Priscilla said defensively. Tobias took a couple of shaky breaths and seemed to calm down.

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing his face and scalp. “I didn’t expect to find anyone hovering over me,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a little disoriented. I can’t believe how late it is,” Priscilla said, looking toward the darkened sky outside the window.

“What time is it?”

“Quarter to nine.”

“Damn. I was out.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Like a dead thing,” Priscilla said, resettling on the coffee table.

“What do you feel like doing?”

“I’m not a good one to ask,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Every time I tell someone what I feel like doing—like moving to Florida, for example—they tell me to forget it,” she said. Tobias smirked.

“Am I to take it I’m not the only one who thinks it’s a bad idea, or are you exaggerating for effect?” Priscilla smiled grudgingly, but didn’t answer.

“Are you hungry?” Tobias asked.

“Amazingly, yes.”

“Why do you sound so surprised? Lunch was hours ago. Besides, it was only seafood.”

“Only seafood? Only an ocean-full of it,” Priscilla said.

“There you go again, exaggerating wildly,” Tobias chided her.

“Not by much,” she corrected him. “We ate enough crab and shrimp and clams and…”

“And oysters…”

“And oysters to feed six people,” she argued.

“It was good, though, wasn’t it?” Tobias asked, a roguish grin on his face.

“Yeah, it was a lot of fun,” she said, examining her wet skirt.

“Oh damn, we didn’t get you any clothes,” Tobias said, squinting at his watch. “I guess we’ll have to do that tomorrow.” Priscilla didn’t comment. It was too hard to comprehend that Tobias Jordan was planning his day around her needs. “What kind of stuff do you have in your bag?” he asked hopefully.

“A pair of jeans, two T-shirts and a denim jacket. Not much, really.”

“Hmm…well, we can order room service. Get a couple of steaks, a bottle of red wine, see what kind of movies they’ve got,” he said. Priscilla laughed, sure that he was putting her on. Tobias smiled expectantly, waiting for a reply.

“How long have you been living here?” she asked.

“In this hotel?”

“Yeah.”

“Just a few days.”

“Why? Are you hiding from someone?” she suggested jokingly.

“A lot of people, actually. My wife, my partner, my girlfriend, my business manager…” Tobias said, counting them off on his fingers. “… my wife’s decorator, my wife’s brain-dead friend, my—”

“That’s a lot of people to be hiding from,” Priscilla said, tucking her legs underneath her. “How long can you hide from all of them?” she asked skeptically.

“As long as I want to, I guess.” Priscilla found the idea amusing. “Hey, you’re so eager to hide from people, you’re running to another state,” Tobias said.

“I’m not trying to hide from anyone,” Priscilla replied coolly.

“Sure you are. Running away, hiding—it’s all the same thing.”

“I’m not running away from anything. I’m running
to
something.”

“Really? What?”

“A new life,” she said simply.

Tobias grinned at her sarcastically. “I see. You just throw out the old life along with the old clothes and get a new one.”

Priscilla didn’t appreciate his condescending manner. “Honestly, there was nothing in the old life worth saving,” she said, affecting a detached attitude. “There’s no reason in the world to hold onto something just because it’s the only thing you’ve got.”

“You’re a natural-born sage, you know that?” Tobias said, getting to his feet, an inscrutable smile on his face. Priscilla could feel her skin grow hot. She couldn’t tell if he was mocking her or being sincere.

“Does a steak sound good to you?” he asked, as he retrieved the room service menu and began to flip through it. “How about a 10 ounce
New York
steak and a Caesar salad to start with?” Priscilla smiled at his unabashed plug. “And a quaffable Bordeaux? Sound good?” She nodded, noting with concern how easy it was to give in to him.

“And you’re wrong about not having anything in your old life worth saving,” he said with a nod in the direction of her pile of lyrics. “Hi, good evening… we’d like two New York steaks…rare…one rare, one medium rare… that’s right…and two Caesar salads. Also, a bottle of the ‘95 Ducru Beaucaillou. And a bottle of fizzy water. And a slice of
New York
-style cheesecake,” he said, turning back to grin mischievously at Priscilla.

“Make that two. How about a couple
Long Island
Iced Teas?” he suggested facetiously. Priscilla didn’t even bother to answer. “Scratch the cocktails. How long will that take? Excellent.” He hung up the phone and rubbed his hands together.

“It’ll be here in thirty minutes. I love living in a hotel. Don’t know why I ever stopped,” he said, cracking his neck in one direction, then the other. He was so chipper, it was hard to believe he’d been sound asleep less than ten minutes ago.

“Do you live like this every day?” Priscilla asked, astonished by his flamboyant style.

“What do you mean?” he asked, casting his eyes around him innocently.

“I mean stuffing yourself with fabulous food, ordering champagne and Bordeaux wine like they were diet Cokes,” she said, her tone slightly reproachful.

“It’s what I like,” Tobias said, palms up. “Fortunately for me, I can still afford to eat and drink what I want, though I don’t know how long that’s going to last.”

“You don’t strike me as being overly concerned about money,” she said, leaning back across the coffee table on outstretched arms.

“I’ve lived it up for so many years, it’s kind of hard to break the pattern. But my business manager has been a real stick-in-the-mud lately, clamoring for me to generate more income, which is why I agreed to a reunion with my partner—”

“The one you’re hiding from?”

“Exactly. So you see, I have to hide from my business manager because I’m hiding from my partner, and if I hide from my partner, I’m not doing anything to accelerate the flow of the green stuff, or whatever color it is these days.”

“So, why are you hiding from your wife, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“The reasons are too numerous to mention,” Tobias said, taking the bottle of water from the coffee table and swigging it down.

“I see,” she said, watching as he drained the bottle and belched like a ten-year-old boy.

“Sorry,” he said, holding up the empty bottle. “I’ll get you another one.” Priscilla arched her back, executing a few stretches of her own, and stood up. She was feeling a little better than when she had first awakened, but still groggy and lethargic. Somehow, she didn’t feel a big steak dinner was going to improve her physical condition much.

“And your girlfriend?” she asked as Tobias reentered the room.

“Ah…well, I think I’ve gone into permanent hiding where she’s concerned,” he said, handing her a glass of water.

“I see. I’m getting the impression she doesn’t know about that yet.”

“I’m sure she’ll get the picture soon enough,” Tobias said, settling on the arm of the sofa.

“Ouch…that’s cold-blooded,” Priscilla said, edging toward the other sofa.

“She’s young, she’ll get over it,” Tobias said nonchalantly.

“You’re terrible,” Priscilla said, eyeing him warily from a safe distance. “Somewhere in Manhattan there’s a young girl crying herself dry over you, and you toss her off like yesterday’s garbage.”

“How do you know she’s young?”

“You just told me. Yeah, I can see it now…she’s probably blond, wispy, taller than average. Ah, of course—she’s a model,” Priscilla deduced, thrilled to see how her newfound clairvoyance was making Tobias squirm. “You’re not one of these cliché rock n’ rollers who habitually chase after nineteen-year-old cover girls, are you?”

“I don’t remember giving you permission to probe into my love life,” Tobias said snidely. Priscilla laughed heartily at that crack. “Okay, if it’s open season on love lives, let’s hear about the state of yours,” he said.

“I have none. That’s why I can pick up and move to Florida,” she countered.

“Oh, come now—you don’t expect me to believe that, do you?”

“You can believe what you wish,” she said, trying to act impervious to his taunts.

“Okay, I’m supposed to believe that a decent-looking chick with all her limbs and facial features intact, who lives in New York City and is not a lesbian—can I assume that you’re not?—can’t find a boyfriend? You’ll have to do better than that.”

Priscilla ruminated on that one for a moment. “It’s not that I can’t find them, it’s just that I’m tired of finding them.”

“Then you are a lesbian?”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“C’mon, I’ve practically admitted I’m a dirty rotten son-of-a-bitch, ditching both wife and lover, and you won’t give me a hint as to what kinds of relationships you’ve had,” Tobias said, enjoying turning the tables on her.

“Stupid ones, all right? Dead-end, idiotic, cataclysmic, horrendous ones—okay? Getting the picture now?”

Tobias’s grin became more crooked. “Well, I guess you haven’t found the love of your life, or you wouldn’t be so wound up about leaving town,” he surmised smugly.

“Maybe I have, and that’s the reason I am leaving town,” Priscilla volleyed back at him, making him chuckle.

“Ah…I get it…he’s too good for me…it’ll never work…we come from different worlds…” Tobias mocked in a high, girlish voice. Priscilla glared at him. There was a little too much reality in his stab-in-the-dark attempt to rile her.

“What an asshole you are,” she said after a lengthy pause. Tobias merely laughed.

“I know, that’s what all the girls tell me,” he said, kissing the top of her head on his way to the kitchen, leaving her stunned and feeling out of her depth once again.

“I think I’m going to take a quick shower before dinner arrives. Feel free to do the same. Here, let me show you your room—the one furthest away from mine, for reasons of propriety,” he said. Priscilla smirked and followed his lead.

“I don’t care how many channels they give you, they’ll always find a way to fill them all with crap,” Tobias complained, flipping through the stations too fast to see what the contents actually were.

Priscilla, glass of red wine in hand, watched from her relaxed position in a daze. She hadn’t owned a television since hers was stolen over eight years ago. The brief glimpses she got at today’s programming made her feel as if she were having an especially chaotic dream.

When she felt as though her eyes were going to cross, she casually reached over and extracted the remote control from Tobias’s hand and turned it off. She handed it back to him without a word. He looked at it for a moment then tossed it lightly onto the other sofa and picked up the wine bottle. Priscilla covered her glass with her hand. Tobias topped his up and leaned back to join her.

“Well, the TV idea wasn’t much of a success,” he said, turning to face her. “Got any other ideas?”

“Nope, I’m fresh out of ideas myself,” Priscilla admitted. “I guess we could just sit here and get drunk.”

“Looks like you’ve beat me to it,” he said, as he reached over and righted her listing glass. “Here, you need to eat more. Have another bite of cheesecake.”

“Oh, God,” Priscilla said, waving his hand away. “You eat it. One more bite and I’ll explode.”