Alligators in the Trees (42 page)

She helped herself to a diet coke from the mini bar, balking only briefly at the five-dollar charge she was incurring by doing so. Tobias was such a big spender, she doubted he had any idea how much he was being overcharged for his extravagances. She wandered back to her appointed room, last quarter of sandwich in hand, and sat down on the corner of the bed to observe her host and lover.

It occurred to her as a funny footnote it was fortunate there wasn’t a soul in the entire world who was expecting her in Florida. She would have been classified as a missing person by this time. Oddly enough, she sort of felt like a missing person, someone who had mistakenly fallen through the looking glass and was never able to resume her old way of life.

Was that such a bad thing?
she asked herself as she glanced around at her current digs. So what if the old Priscilla Vanderpool had disappeared? She had been toying with the idea of putting her former identity to rest anyway, at precisely the same moment Tobias called to her on the street. Well, wasn’t that an interesting coincidence? She glanced over her shoulder and discovered she had not been unobserved in her meditations.

“How long have you been awake?” she asked Tobias, who lay staring up at her with his usual maddening grin.

“Long enough to watch you devour your sandwich like a starving wolf,” he said. “I bet you didn’t save me any of it, either—did you?”

“Of course not,” Priscilla replied, sipping her high-priced soda.

“Give me a sip,” he said, taking the can from her hand. “My mouth feels like I’ve been staked out in the Gobi desert for a week,” he said, a complaint Priscilla understood quite well.

“I can get you your own,” she offered. “They’re only five bucks apiece.” Tobias crinkled his brow at her, as if the price of a soda—no matter how exorbitant—was irrelevant if you wanted it.

“You’d probably pass out if you knew what the nightly rate on this suite was,” he said, killing the last of the soda and crunching the can. “See, back to my old vim and vigor,” he said, depositing the crumpled can in her hand like a treasured gift. “What time is it?” he asked, stretching and groaning loudly.

“Five after five,” she said, lying down across the end of the bed.

“No way.” Priscilla nodded. “Oh well,
c’est la vie
. It’s not like we had a lot on our agendas today, anyway,” he said, grabbing at her leg playfully.

“You haven’t cornered the market on Viagra, have you?” Priscilla cracked, pulling her leg a safe distance from her aggressor.

“Don’t complain—it’s a compliment. It means you know how to bring out the beast in me,” he said, gracing her with a particularly cheesy come-on look.

“Great. Just how do we get the beast to go back into his cave?”

“Oh, like you’ve had such a bad time,” Tobias countered. “As I recall, you’re beastie came out before my beastie did.” Priscilla laughed.

“Yeah, but that was different. You plied me with alcohol and dazzled me with all these fancy trappings. You had me at a disadvantage.”

“Oh, boohoo. Big, bad Tobias took advantage of you,” he taunted. Priscilla responded with a long kick to his side of the bed, which he intercepted.

“Ha, ha ha, I’ve got you now,” he said, using her leg to pull her toward him. Priscilla giggled and whined intermittently, but was unable or unwilling to put up much resistance.

“Still want to get out and do something?” Tobias asked, holding her close in a somewhat tentative embrace. Priscilla giggled as she got a mental image of Pepe La Pew clutching the unwitting pussycat in his repugnant arms. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” she said, not fool enough to get him riled up in her current position. “To answer your question, yes, I would like to get out of here before I start feeling like a sex hostage…”

“A sex hostage?
Please!”

“…but at this stage of the day, I don’t have a lot of options, seeing as how I’ve just about exhausted my entire wardrobe…”

“Oh damn,” Tobias sighed, rolling over on his back. “We forgot to buy you some clothes.”

“We didn’t exactly forget…”

“What time is it?” he asked, sitting up to look at the clock. 5:15.

“I need to shower and wash my hair,” Priscilla said, preempting any ideas he might have of racing off on a shopping spree so near to closing time.

“Not a problem,” Tobias said, disappearing into the bathroom and returning in a matching white robe. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before.” He picked up the phone and dialed information. After receiving the number for Bergdorf-Goodman, he placed the call and asked to be transferred to a personal shopper.

“What are you doing?” Priscilla asked, confused and dismayed by his actions.

“What size are you?”

“Six. Why?”

“Hi, good afternoon. Who am I speaking to? Rebecca. Hi, this is Tobias Jordan. Good, thanks. I’m here in town with a lady friend, whose luggage has been mistakenly routed to Saigon, or somewhere. The problem is, we have an engagement this evening and she literally doesn’t have anything but the bathrobe on her back to wear. Could you possibly send over few dresses appropriate for evening, say a dozen or so? A nice variety of choices, okay? She’s a size six. Sounds good. We’re at the Amsterdam, keeping a low profile, if you take my meaning. Ask for the hotel manager, he’ll bring you up. Let me give you my American Express number and you can run a deposit on it, just to keep everything kosher. How does that sound?”

He recited a string of numbers so impossibly long, Priscilla wondered if he were making them up. “I realize how late it is, that’s why I called you. Bergdorf’s has always come through for me in the past. I promise we won’t keep you late, and I promise I’ll make it worth your while. That’s wonderful. We’ll see you then.” Tobias replaced the receiver and smiled smugly at Priscilla, whose face wore an expression of pure disbelief.

“I can’t believe what I just heard,” she sputtered. “You can really do something like that?”

“I just did, didn’t I? Go wash your hair. She’ll be her in about half an hour.”

Philip tipped the delivery boy and took the brown paper bags into the kitchen, where Caitlin sat finishing her homework. It had been a long day—so long, it felt more like a week. So much happened with The Phoenix and related issues, Philip had to pick Caitlin up from school and bring her back to the office while he tried to tie everything up.

Poor kid, he thought, as he dished out the Phad Thai, Mee Grob, Shu Mai and Satay onto their plates. If things worked out the way he expected them to, he’d need to look into getting an
au pair
or a reliable sitter for after school. Although she got a kick out of hanging around the office this time, he imagined the novelty would soon wear off.

“Don’t eat the noodles with your fingers,” Philip said, as he tried to swat her hand away. Caitlin was too fast for him, hiding her hand behind her back, out of harm’s way. Feeling cocky, she ventured another shot at the Pahd Thai, but this time her fast little hand was intercepted.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Philip scolded her, holding both hands palm-side up as he inspected them. “Just as I thought. Go clean up, and make it quick. Your food’s going to get cold.” Like a shot, Caitlin was out of the chair and down the hallway. She loved Thai food almost as much as she loved pizza. In under thirty seconds, she was back at her chair.

“You couldn’t have possibly washed your hands that fast,” Philip said, withholding her plate from her until he saw proof of cleanliness.

“I did too, see?” she said, holding her still damp hands up for examination. Philip scrutinized them thoroughly, but more for reasons of wanting to prolong contact with her than out of fastidiousness.

“Oh, yum yum yum,” she said excitedly, as Philip set the plate in front of her. “Did they give us extra peanut sauce?” she asked, peering around the clutter on the table.

“One for you and one for me,” Philip said, placing a small Styrofoam container to the right of her placemat. “I want you to eat the chicken, too—not just the peanut sauce.”

He doubted whether she’d obey him, though she did make a big show of taking a bite of the chicken without licking all the sauce off first. She smiled smugly through her mouthful, causing Philip’s parental demeanor to flag. She was such a good kid, it was hard to be the authority figure all the time. But somebody had to make sure she didn’t grow up to be a spoiled rotten princess, like her mother.

He ladled peanut sauce on his own Satay and managed to get one bite in before his cell phone rang. Leslie was working late, as she likely would for some time to come. He had instructed her to call him if anything urgent came up, in addition to keeping him informed whenever Martin or Marianne called in. So far, Martin had been the only caller from that front. Michelson had not returned his call, but that didn’t surprise him.

“Hi boss, it’s me. I wanted to let you know the letter from the city just came over the fax.”

“Read it to me.”

“Mr. Philip Glessner—”

“You can skip all that part. I just want to make sure they’ve spelled everything out in plain English, so that I don’t need to get fifteen attorneys to interpret it.”

“Okay, it says…“
the above mentioned property—known as The Phoenix Tower—has been
removed from the city’s demolition schedule, effective at 4:30 on the above referenced date. The owner(s) will have a period of forty-five days from said date to perform corrective work. If agreed upon corrective work is not completed by this deadline, or if said corrective work is deemed unsatisfactory, the Department of Public Safety will be forced to reschedule demolition for the safety and well-being of the general public.”
Signed, Joseph A. Poncelli.”

“Excellent,” Philip said, chewing a bite of Pahd Thai discretely.

“When he called to see if we received the fax, he told me we’ll have something in writing from the Planning Commission giving you authorization to proceed with the retrofitting project.”

“Very excellent,” Philip nodded into the phone. “Looks like we’re good to go, then.”

“It sure does, boss.”

“Well, thanks for staying there till it came through. You need to go home and get some sleep,” Philip advised her.

“Home? Sleep? What are those?”

“You’ll get your reward, I promise,” Philip assured her.

“Oh, you know the money doesn’t mean anything. I only do this because I’m an incurable masochist,” she said with a laugh.

“It’ll get easier, I swear. Well, go get yourself something to eat, on me,” he said before exchanging goodnights. Philip put down his cell phone and picked up a Shu Mai with his fingers, eating it while he stared out into space.

“You look tired, Daddy,” Caitlin said, battling two wooden skewers as she fought both sides of an invisible war. Hearing her say that, Philip could feel the skin around his eye sockets sag and his vision blur.

“Yeah, Daddy had a tough day, Pumpkin,” he said, trying to sit up straighter.

“What happened?” she asked, her eyes big with concern.

“Oh, just a lot of stuff. I had a lot of people to meet with about fixing The Phoenix.”

“Are you really going to fix it?”

“Looks that way.”

“That’s good, right?”

“It’s very good, sweetheart. When the building is fixed, all the people who used to live there will get to move back in again, so everyone’s going to be happy.” Caitlin’s rapturous expression surprised him.

“So you won’t have to go to jail?” she asked timidly.

“No, of course not,” Philip said, appalled that she had been harboring such concerns. “Where did you ever get an idea like that?” Caitlin shrugged off the question, fearing she might get in trouble.

“Did someone tell you I was going to have to go to jail?” Philip pressed her. It made his blood boil to think there were people in this world who could make such a callous and libelous remark to a child. He had feared the possible repercussions of all the negative press coverage, yet he vainly hoped the mean-spirited gossip would not reach her at school. It grieved him to find out how heartless people could be.

“Who was it, honey? I would really like to know,” he said, implying she would not scolded if she spilled the beans.

“Mommy,” she said so softly, Philip could barely understand her at first.

“Mommy?
Why would she say something like that?” he asked, trying to keep the outrage out of his voice. Another shrug. A snort of exasperation escaped him, but he smiled quickly to cover it.

“Did she say that I was going to jail because of the problem with The Phoenix?” Caitlin nodded and her eyes clouded over. Philip’s heart nearly broke in two. “Oh, ha ha ha,” he laughed with contrived joviality. “You didn’t really believe that?” he asked. Caitlin nodded, her lower lip quivering. “Mommy was just joking.”

“No she wasn’t,” Caitlin bellowed, her face turning red and crumpling as the tears started streaming from her eyes.

“There, now—no reason to cry,” Philip cooed, as he lifted her up and sat her on his lap. “I’m sure she was just saying that as a figure of speech,” he tried to reassure her, kissing the top of her head, which had become hot in her distressed state.

“A what?” Caitlin snuffled as she looked at him quizzically.

“A figure of speech? Well, that’s when you say something for effect even though it’s not really true.” Philip saw by her puzzled expression this explanation wasn’t going to cut it.

“It’s like if someone were to tell me that the Mets were going to win the World Series again, and I told them, ‘Yeah, when pigs fly.’” Caitlin giggled at the thought of pigs flying.

“See what I’m saying? We know that pigs will never fly, just like Mommy knows that I am never going to go to jail. See, does that make sense now?” Philip asked, grateful that Caitlin was still young enough to buy such weak reasoning. She nodded her head, somewhat reluctantly. Philip cinched the deal by giving her a good tickle.

“No—stop, Daddy!”
she squealed. Philip let her loose and she flopped happily back to her seat. “So you really don’t have to go to jail?” she asked one more time for clarity.

“Absolutely, positively not,” Philip said adamantly.

“Good,” Caitlin replied, grabbing a Phad Thai noodle with her fingers and sucking it into her mouth in one fluid slurp.

“Hey, not with your fingers!” Philip reminded her. Caitlin uttered a sharp laugh like a magpie’s call, clearly relieved of her earlier anxiety. Philip watched her, his heart so full it ached. At the same time, he felt a hatred and contempt of Marianne, the likes of which he had never experienced.

She’ll get hers in the end,
he told himself, willing his mind away from the subject. To humor Caitlin, and to distract himself, he took two of the wooden skewers and stuck them in his mouth the way Caitlin had at the Chinese restaurant. She watched with a growing grin on her face as Philip wiggled the sticks with his lips. She quickly joined in, and they made ridiculous faces at each other until they were laughing so hard they couldn’t keep the sticks in place.

“I miss Priscilla,” Caitlin said.

“I do too,” Philip admitted, carefully laying his skewers down side by side. He folded his arms and sat starring at the sticks, his mind wandering off again.

“Are we going to Florida to see her?”

“Ah…sure.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see.”

“Wait for what?” Caitlin persisted.

“We’re going to have to wait for an invitation, that’s what,” Philip said, setting the remains of their feast on the counter by the sink. He scooped her up without warning and carried her down the hall.

“But now it’s time for your bath, missy,” he said swinging her over his back, earning a delighted squeal for the ambushing. He deposited her in front of the bathroom and told her to run and get her pajamas. He started the water and watched as the tub filled, occasionally testing and modifying the temperature. Caitlin returned, PJ’s in hand, his signal to leave so she could get undressed.

She’s growing up so fast,
Philip thought as he closed the door behind him.

“Daddy…?”

“Yes?” Philip answered, his face close to the door.

“I wish I could be with you all the time,” she said.

“I know, sweetheart—me too. But I’ve got to go to work and you’ve got to go to school…”

“I mean
after
school. At night.”

“But you like spending time with Mommy, too, don’t you?” he asked through the door.

“I’d rather be with you all the time,” she said after a brief pause. Philip stared at the door pensively.

“Well, maybe we can work something out where we can be together more often,” he said.

“You promise?” she asked, her voice tinged with excitement, sounding so close, he could tell she was pressed up next to the door, hanging on his every word.

“I promise to try, how’s that?”

“Okay,” she said, satisfied by his answer. He heard the sloshing of water as she climbed into the tub.

“Don’t stay in there too long—you’ll get wrinkly like a pickle,” he warned.

“I won’t,” she said, sloshing gaily about.

“And try to keep some of the water in the tub this time, okay?” Caitlin laughed gleefully, a sure sign that the floor was going to need mopping when she was through.

Philip cleaned up the dinner mess while Caitlin bathed, or at least got good and wet. These simple domestic chores turned his mind to the fact that, things changing the way they were, he was going to need to make more permanent living arrangements. He had imposed on his friends’ generosity far too long already.

At least now they would not have to combat the stigma of giving charity to a public pariah. His reputation would be restored and they could bask in the nobility of having stood by a friend when he was down and out. He was beginning to feel that, after an unduly long hiatus, his side of the earth was finally coming back into the sun’s glowing rays.

As far as housing options went, he had various, one of which was buying out any disenchanted Phoenix Tower owners. Suddenly, a rather wicked ploy occurred to him. It was so effective and so simple, it made him laugh. Caitlin called out to him, ready for him to tuck her in and read her a story. He stashed the idea away for safekeeping and went to perform his fatherly duties.

Later that evening, after a relaxing shower, he took a seat on the balcony and enjoyed the cool night air. He had so many things on his mind, so many pressing details regarding The Phoenix, plus the sudden flip of power in the divorce drama. It was a while before he remembered his brilliant solution for his housing dilemma.

He savored his scotch while he savored the twist that would surely send Marianne into a conniption fit. If this didn’t push her into settling their divorce his way, he’d be shocked.

Surprise would be the key to pulling it off. He could feed Martin particular clues about his intent, but only enough to put a certain amount of fear in both of them. Right now, just the thought that he wanted to reconcile their marriage probably had Marianne pacing the floor, firing epithets in every direction. He wished he could be there to see that! He was itching to find out what their next move would be.

But all in good time. He had plenty of real issues to keep his mind engaged until the showdown. He got up, got undressed and collapsed in his bed. He slept more fitfully than he had in ages.