Brooklyn Girls (34 page)

“Get off her!” Julia immediately tries to grab Nolan’s arm away from Coco, but Nicky steps in, and with one of his meat-hook hands, lifts both her wrists above her head.

Then hell breaks loose: Angie and Madeleine run toward us as I try to pull Nicky away from Julia. Everyone is shouting and screaming at once, and all I can think is
no no no no no no no.

At that moment, I hear a clicking sound.

Cosmo’s pointing a gun.

At me.

I hear all of us gasp at once. I hate guns, I hate them. There’s a small, dull, silvery death, just sitting in Cosmo’s hand.… Oh, my God, what have I done?

“Are we all paying attention now? Good,” says Cosmo. “Now, everyone walk through to the living room and we’ll work this out like friends.”

Cosmo grabs the top of my arm and pulls me through the hallway, followed by Nolan with Coco, and then Nicky, who is somehow restraining Angie and Madeleine with one hand and Julia with the other.

“What’s he gonna do to us?” hisses Madeleine as we reach the living room, and I hear Coco let out a sob. Oh God, oh God, oh God …

Then I hear another, much louder clicking sound behind me.

I look around.

It’s Vic. With a sawed-off shotgun.

“Who the fuck are you?” says Cosmo.

“It’s the neighbor, the old man,” hisses Nolan. Of course: he’s been spying on us, he knows exactly who everyone is.

“I’m only going to say this once. Let the girls go and get out.” Vic doesn’t even acknowledge us: he only has eyes for Cosmo.

“Get the fuck outta here, old man!” snaps Cosmo.

“No respect for your elders,” Vic says, sighing. “Never did.”

“You’ve got a Lapua?” says Nicky in awe. He’s staring at the gun.

Vic has never looked so strong and tough. “Put the gun down, Antony Cosmolli.”

“How the fuck do you know my name, old man?” mutters Cosmo, but he lowers the handgun so it’s pointing at the floor.

“Screw this,” mutters Nolan. I glance over just in time to see him whip a knife out of his pocket and turn to Coco, but a split second later, there’s a deafening
bang
from Vic’s shotgun, and the knife drops out of Nolan’s hand. He’s screaming, doubled over his bleeding hand in pain.

Nicky lets the girls go, quickly taking Nolan’s other arm out of its sling, and using it to wrap his hand. Nolan is making a high-pitched keening sound. The rest of us are rooted to the spot in shock.

“Shut the fuck up, Nolan,” snaps Cosmo. He hasn’t taken his eyes off Vic.

“Here’s your money,” says Vic, taking an envelope out of his back pocket. “Take it and get out.”

Cosmo grabs the envelope, and opens his mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it, and heads toward the front door. Nicky and Nolan follow immediately behind him, Nolan’s slingless broken arm hanging down helplessly as he holds his other bleeding hand to his chest.

Vic follows, shotgun in hand, and I walk behind him. We stop at the front door and watch them hurry down the stoop.

“Don’t come back here. Ever,” says Vic. “Do you hear me?”

“Ever,” I repeat.

Cosmo ignores us, unlocks his car door, they all get in and moments later are speeding down Union Street.

“I don’t think you’ll be seeing him again,” says Vic.

I turn to him. “Thank you, Vic, thank you! I can never thank you enough. How did you know?”

“When you start talking to the heavens from the deck, check to make sure your neighbors aren’t listening first, girlie,” he says. He’s got a glint of anger in his eye, but looks drawn and gray, and suddenly I remember.

“Oh … Vic. I am so sorry about Marie,” I say.

“Me too,” he says gruffly. “But it’s her money that just paid that little idiot. After I got home, I saw the stripped bed, and I decided to air the mattress. She had a lot of cash stuffed under there. About ten thousand dollars, in fact. Stubborn, that one. Never trusted banks.”

We head back to the living room, where the girls are sitting, paralyzed with shock. I feel high: adrenaline is pumping through my body. Fear, elation, relief, horror … everything, all at once.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” I say, running up to Julia and Coco, who are both still white with fear. “Are you okay? Is anyone hurt?”

“Everyone is fine,” says Vic calmly. “None of you has anything to worry about. He won’t be coming back.”

“How do you know?” says Madeleine. “What if we just started a war with those thugs?”

“You haven’t,” says Vic. “He won’t be back here.”

“How do you know?” asks Coco.

“I’m friends with his uncle, I’ll be calling him later today,” says Vic. “And I know his type.” And with that, the Cosmo conversation appears to be closed.

“Why do you have a shotgun?” asks Julia, her voice a tiny whisper.

“I’ve been minding it for a couple of friends since 1972,” he says. “I’m kinda surprised it worked, frankly.”

“You’re like Clint Eastwood in
Gran Torino,
” says Angie in awe.

“Are you all okay?” I say. “I’m sorry, I can’t believe that happened, I’m so sorry.”

Everyone is talking at once.

“I’m fine, I’m fine—”

“I think I’m gonna be sick, I have never been so scared—”

“Did that really just happen?”

“I swear to God, Pia, if you do something like this again—” That’s Madeleine.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, yet again. I feel like I’ll be saying sorry forever. “I can’t believe that I got you all into this, and I’ll never do anything that stupid again, I promise.”

“It’s fine,” says Angie calmly. “It was a situation you couldn’t control. We all understand.”

Julia, Madeleine, and Coco slowly nod, and I am overwhelmed with relief. They don’t hate me.

“Oh, my God, look, there’s his finger,” says Coco, looking behind the blood-spattered sofa. She peers closely. “Dirty fingernail. Ew. We should put that on ice.”

“Are you serious?” says Angie. “We should flush it down the fucking toilet.”

“I got the whole thing?” says Vic. He sounds proud.

Julia walks over to the sofa, takes one look at Nolan’s blown-off finger, and promptly faints.

In the chaos that ensues, Coco somehow gets everyone outside on the deck in the post-rain fresh air, drinking very strong, sweet tea and eating oatmeal cookies she made this morning.

“Wow, that was weird,” says Julia. “I never fainted before.”

“Another cookie, please,” says Madeleine.

I’m surprised everyone isn’t angrier. They should be furious. After all, I put them in probably the most severe danger they’ve ever been in. But they’ve just sort of understood and forgiven me, straightaway. I feel tearful with relief.

“I’ll pay you back the money as soon as I can, Vic,” I say. “I will ask my parents as soon as I speak to them.”

“No hurry. Consider it a loan.”

“No, I can’t,” I say, and quickly get up to grab a pen and paper from the kitchen. I sit back down, and start writing. “I owe Vittorio Bartolo $10,000,” I write. “Signed, Pia Keller.”

I fold it up and hand it to him, and he puts it in his shirt pocket.

“I promise it’s coming,” I say.

“Don’t worry,” he says, grinning at me. “I know where you live.”

CHAPTER 31

“Treat this as a war,” says Julia. “You’ve done the recon, you have a battle plan, now put on some goddamn armor and go kick some food truck ass. All is not lost.”

I nod obediently. It’s 6:15
A.M
., and Jules is standing at my door, fully dressed, gym bag over her shoulder, delivering a pep talk like a high school football coach.

She began said pep talk last night, after Vic had dinner with us, and hasn’t really stopped since, except when I begged her to give me time to sleep. I think it’s her way of regaining ascendancy after her fainting fit.

I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, pajamas on.

“This is your time, Pia. This is everything you’ve been working for. You look like shit, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I feel like shit.” I haven’t slept. I just kept replaying the Cosmo incident in my head. Then I’d think about the Lina meeting today and about my parents, and then just go straight back to thinking about Cosmo again.

“Regroup. Get your soldiers into—”

“But I don’t even know what Lina is planning,” I interrupt anxiously.

“I think she wants her boss to buy it. Simple.”

“No,” I say. “They own huge luxury hotels and restaurants. Buying a measly little food truck would be like Bergdorf Goodman buying a market stall at Brooklyn Flea. It doesn’t fit.”

Julia sighs. “Think positive visualization, Peepee. This is good. I can feel it in my waters.”

“Last time you felt something in your waters it turned out to be cystitis,” says Madeleine, poking her head around my door. She’s off for her morning jog. “Want me to grab you a coffee on the way home, Pia? I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, please,” I say. “Whatever you’re having, plus an extra shot. Actually, two. Two extra shots.”

“And, um, can I please borrow your blue dress tomorrow? The one with the high neck?”

“Yes, of course,” I say. “For work?”

“No … I’m going to, um, go to this singing audition tomorrow night,” she says, blushing. “I saw the ad on Craigslist. It’s for a band over in Williamsburg. Last night I decided … life is too short to not do what you want.” She pauses. “Within reason.”

“Dude,” I say. “That’s awesome. Of course you can. We need to talk shoes, too.”

Julia looks at her watch. “I’ve gotta run. Are you all set?”

“Just tell me one thing,” I say.

“Shoot,” says Julia.

“Will you keep Toto at your house in Rochester for me when I leave for Zurich? I can’t bear to sell her. I’ll come back to get her one day.”

“Of course I will,” says Jules. “But I won’t need to. You’ll be a huge success.”

When I’m alone again, I take a second to send a SkinnyWheels tweet.
Sorry kids. No SkinnyWheels today. Exceptional circumstances … I’ll make it up to you with 20% off tomorrow.
I texted Jonah last night, to tell him we wouldn’t be working today. He replied telling me he had a callback for another audition. Good for him. He’s making his life happen.

That moment, my phone rings. It’s my father’s cell phone number.

I look at it for a second and press “silent” to let it ring out. Not yet. I am sure that today’s meeting will be a waste of time, and tomorrow I’ll have to borrow the ten thousand to pay Vic back, but I can’t do it over the phone.

I take a very long, hot shower and dress, relishing the familiar creaky sounds of Rookhaven and the girls around me. Coco’s singing along to some terrible old Nick Lachey song up in the attic, Angie’s stomping around her bedroom in what must be five-inch wooden heels, and Madeleine has returned from her jog with coffees and is now doing her customary extra-long shower. I never spoke to her about the
UGLY UGLY UGLY
in the mirror. If it was even her. I figure it was just someone having a bad day.

What do you wear to go into battle?

I dress the way Lina does: charcoal pants, silk top, black blazer, black heels. Perfect. Professional, chic, and stylish. Hair chic and plain, makeup very basic.

I look in my wardrobe mirror one last time before I leave the house. This is it, I think. This is your chance to make something happen.

Whatever “something” is.

*   *   *

I’m at Forty-seventh
and Lexington half an hour early. Like yesterday, the sky is cloudy and ominously gray. Oh, God, I hope that’s not a sign.

Immediately, I start nervously pacing the nearby streets. I walk west down Forty-seventh, and then turn up Fifth Avenue, gazing idly in store windows, my brain buzzing with nervous energy.

When I’m on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Forty-ninth Street, waiting for the lights to turn green, I look across to the crowds of suits and tourists standing on the other side.

And that’s when I see them.

My parents.

Here.

In New York City.

They’re on the corner in front of Saks, facing downtown. I haven’t seen them since the beginning of the summer, when I headed to Zurich for a week of compulsory family time before heading off to meet Angie. They look just the same as ever. My mother is looking into her purse for something and yapping away. My father is smoking a cigar, frowning into the distance and ignoring her. They’re not supposed to be here till tomorrow!

I swivel 180 degrees and run into the store behind me. For a few minutes I feign interest in some deeply boring shoes. Next time I look out, my parents have disappeared.

Why the hell are they here early? Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? They wanted to surprise me, so they had an extra day to force me to leave New York. This is really happening. I am going to have to leave Brooklyn and the girls and the life I feel like I’m finally, maybe, possibly making for myself.

Okay, breathe, Pia. Breathe. They don’t know where my house is, don’t know how to contact anyone’s parents. They don’t know my friends or anything about my life, in fact, they never have. Thank God for that.

How can I make sure I don’t run into them today? Okay: they usually stay at the Carlyle, and right now they’re probably out for their mandatory post-breakfast constitutional walk (something I was forced to do every Saturday and Sunday growing up and every single day on vacation, even though they walked two abreast and I had to walk behind them and they never even talked to me). My mother likes shopping at Bergdorf, my father likes to have a drink at the King Cole Bar in the St. Regis Hotel, and they both enjoy walking in Central Park while looking disapprovingly at people with dogs.

Tomorrow they’ll call me. But I’ll deal with that then.

Oh, God, now I feel even more sick. It’s adding to my coffee-fueled anxiety.

I’ll just put them out of my head. It shouldn’t be hard, I’ve been doing it since I was about six. I have to focus on the meeting. I have to make the most of whatever Lina’s planning.

I buy a banana and a bagel with cream cheese from a deli and eat as I walk the streets, doing the occasional 360 turn for recon to make sure my parents aren’t following me.