CON TEST: Double Life (12 page)

He showered and dressed long after Lundin had left and then drove over to Borders and sat in the café. He read and made revisions on his manuscript. He prepared a story map to get him to the end of the story.

William re-read the dialogue and liked how the two men exchanged true emotions, which was rare, so he would let that stand, although it was passive. He wanted to make a statement. He pulled out index cards. On top of a card, he wrote the word “chapter” and began to jot down thoughts of ideas that he wanted to include in the manuscript. Later he would turn the cards into a page turner.

His cell phone rang, and he checked the caller ID. It was Jewel, and he answered. Hell, she paid the bill.

“
Wheel of Fortune, how the hell are ya?”

“
I’ve been spinning this wheel trying to land on a trip to Europe for a month. Can you help there?”

“
Hey, bring me back a novel, and you got it,” she replied and seemed serious. “I was calling to thank you for the flowers. It was a nice gesture. Made me the envy of the office.”

William was flummoxed. He had not sent her flowers, and he confessed that.

“
Cut the shit, William. They came at the most perfect moment. Thanks.”

William had no idea what she talked about. He played it cool, and asked, “Why was it the perfect moment.”

“
I have another producer begging me for a Law & Order spec script. When I received the flowers, I was reading the E-mail.”

He furrowed his brow and tried to figure out who sent her flowers. “Jewel, I am writing a novel for adaptation. Have you forgot? And what was signed on the note attached to the flowers?”

“
Will, come on. Stop that game.”

“
I’m serious, Jewel.”

“
The card was signed, Will of Fortune. Your name was spelled like the name, not wheel as you and I do it.”

“
I did not send it.”

“
OK, Will you did not send them,” she said, and switched topics. “I was thinking that during your spare time, you could produce a few identity theft spec scripts for Law and Order.”

“
I don’t know, Jewel.”

“
Come on, the longest running franchise. Hell, you may spark a spinoff of identity theft segments.”

“
Charming, but I will lose personal time with Lundin. I don’t want to be the writer like the cop that puts in so many hours the wife cheats or leaves.”

“
Just think about it. I’ll check back in a week,” she said. “Oh, and the few chapters that you re-wrote on Justice, I am loving the Woodbridge, New Jersey dramatic tensions.”

“
Thanks,” he said and hung up. He was done with that conversation, and wasn’t writing for Law and Order.

TWENTY-ONE

L
undin waited for Margaret to come down from her apartment, so they could shop at the exquisite emporiums on their tract. Lundin stood on the pavement in front of the bakery below Margaret’s apartment. Living on the expensive street was a beautiful thing for Lundin, but Robertson became magical when Margaret took an apartment on the same street. Lundin had longed for true girlfriends and she had found two. Lundin looked and finally saw the vixen, Margaret Goode.

“
Girl, you can’t ever be downstairs when you know that I am on my way. I pump down here and wait 20-minutes in this sun. Have you forgotten that you live on the sunny side of the street? And above a bakery that calls my name, while I live above a men’s shoe store.”

“
Oh, calm down, sweetie. The sun is fabulous for your complexion. Let’s go,” Margaret said, and began to walk down the street. “I called Shaunte, and she can’t meet us.”

“
Too bad,” Lundin said. “Curve has some fabulous pieces in the window.”

“
She also said to tell you to get a new cell phone carrier. She kept calling you and some bitch kept telling her that you were being located as if she was running around an office looking for you,” Margaret said, laughing, as they stepped in front of Curve. “I was pissed that she called me only to deliver you a message,”

“
Retta, cut it out. That’s so small-minded. You two talk far more than I do, both of you, considering I always work.”

“
Uh! Hun, today is Monday and you are out shopping at one in the afternoon,” Margaret joked. “Not at work.”

“
I’m working. My schedule says I’m on a styling mission with one of my girls. It’s not my fault that your high-priced modeling contract was garnered by me, your bestie, sister, and neighbor. And you love to be escorted by me to shop. Thanks, Retta. I’ll pencil you in at any time.”

The bellow of laughter awakened Curve proprietor, Sandy Dahli. He was a husky man, with wide eyes, handsome-clever face and a wide flat pig nose. He looked like a tackle rather than a high-powered fashionista.

Sandy stood and greeted his best customers. He prayed Lundin never moved and hoped that she invited all of her friends to high fashion candy shop. He gave Lundin and Margaret hugs and offered them champagne.

“
And, what are you wearing today?” Lundin asked.

“
Well,” he said with a deep, raspy lisp. “If you must know, this hat is Philip Treacy; the shirt Comme de Garçon, the belt Barry Keiselstein-Cord, the knickers Vivienne Westwood, the socks Etro, and the sneakers, Hermes.” He confessed and twirled androgynously in a circle. “My show’s over. What brings us in today?”

“
I’m browsing, which you know translates to a high American Express charge. I’m going to the New York shows, so I need to get right,” Lundin said.

“
Oh, honey!” He exclaimed. “Then we have to go the VIP section.”

“
Sandy, when did you get a VIP section?” Margaret asked.

“
Ten seconds ago,” he said ushering them to a doorway leading to the basement. He yelled to the store clerk, “Celeste, I am going down stairs for a while.” He then told his VIP’s, “I have the shit down here, honey.”

“
I like the sound of that,” Margaret said, avariciously. She imagined clubbing in the new pieces, before any of the other LA bitches had them.

An hour passed and Lundin contemplated an excuse to hand William for spending $8,000 without consulting him.

TWENTY-TWO

W
hile Lundin shopped, William worked on his manuscript:

Amir and Justice strolled into the luxuriant Plaza Hotel on W 59
^th
Street and 5
^th
Avenue. Even at that time of morning the doorman was outside to collect them out of the cab. Amir looked over at the horse carriages parked on the side of Central Park. Finally, he had the chance to see the park not on a TV screen. He got himself together and waltzed into the Plaza.

Hotel guests were returning from a $1,000-a-plate gala for breast cancer research. The two frauds approached the cream and brown marble-topped front desk and prepared to put their plan into effect.

“
May I help you sir?” a coffee induced front desk clerk asked.

“
Hopefully, you can,” Amir said.

“
You’re in luck. I’m sure that I can,” the clerk responded, and tapped some keys on his keyboard. “Name on the reservation?”

“
We just arrived from O’Hare and our reservations were screwed up the block at the Waldorf Astoria. Please tell us that you have rooms available? We have had a rough night. Our plane was delayed, so our room was listed as a no show. Our luggage did not travel with us, and United plans to have it on a flight in the morning.” Amir rattled off hastily.

Justice scanned the man’s name tag pinned to his blazer. “Come on, Harry, I’m sure that Mr. Oforgbu does not want to hear our drama.” Justice then asked the clerk, “Do they talk this much in Ghana?” He had read the clerks country origin from his name tag, and personalized the situation.

“
You’re in luck,” Mr. Oforgbu said, and looked up from his computer monitor. “We do have suites available. They’re $629 a night. And they talk more in Ghana. I just need an ID and credit card, and I can check you in.”

“
Unfortunately, my credit cards are in my luggage. I do have my check book, though,” Amir said, and then stacked above that, he said, “It’s a good thing that I kept my passport in here, or we would really be screwed. We’re going to Spain in three days.”

Mr. Oforgbu checked Amir in for three days after his check was approved. He printed Amir a receipt for him to sign and gave him a copy. He gave them both gold metal keys for entrance to a room that overlooked Central Park. Before they walked off, though, Amir had one other trick up his sleeves.

“
I’m a little short on cash,”—he flashed a smile—“and wondered if you cashed personal checks?”

“
Sure, up to $500. Make the check payable to the Plaza and I’ll give you cash.”

Amir left the desk with $500 in his pocket. So much for being broke.

# # #

The following morning, Amir left Justice in the room and went down to the busy lobby. Transient guests ebbed about and checked in and out. The grandfather clock read 10:30. He scanned the lobby and assured Oforgbu had left before he approached the front desk. He left, once again, $500 richer.
One thousand dollars in 8 hours ain’t bad
, he thought.
Now I see why it was so easy for the kid in Home Alone: Lost in New York to get con this very hotel.

The room service that Amir ordered before leaving the room had arrived by the time that Amir returned. He and Justice ate breakfast and wondered what the day had in store.

With breakfast finished, Amir pushed the cart into the hallway, and then sat at the desk that looked out over Central Park. He skimmed through the hotel directory and New York Magazine. It was his first time in the Big Apple and he wanted to make the best of it.

Justice interrupted his train of thought. “What now, brain?” he asked perched on his bed, and flicking through the TV channels.

“
First, we need Alimu-Shine to bring up your computer in your truck, so that we will have it. We need to make fresh work. We can get new ID’s from New York somewhere, I’m sure. And you know the rest.”

“
Do I?” Justice asked with a touch of sarcasm. “Left up to me, I’ll jump outta that window, and have my guts splashed across the front page of the New York Post. You have all the hope, so I’ll just sit back and let you put things in motion.”

“
You can do that after you have Alimu-Shine bring the shit. I’ll do the rest.”

“
This I have to see,” Justice said, and placed a call to Alimu-Shine.

William sat back from the computer monitor and stared blankly at the fish swimming above him. He had no idea what he wanted to do next with his characters, especially with Amir running the show. William had no idea if Amir was capable of anything that fell into the description of directing.

For a moment he was flushed out of avenues to turn to. He wanted to be done with Justice and this script. He stood and walked over to the recliner. He sat and kicked his feet up. Fifteen minutes of flexing his brain muscles and wrestling with the plot had gotten him nowhere. He checked the time and saw that he had plenty of time to make it to Fed-Ex and the ATM.

He realized that no author was an island. He had friends in places. Putting his pride aside, he boxed up the pages that he needed to ship to a friend to review. He saluted himself for putting his macho aside.

TWENTY-THREE

T
hursday night along with the rain, William parked in the airport parking lot around 8 p.m. He unloaded Lundin’s luggage from the car and held her hand as he rolled her new suitcase and duffle bag through to the ticket counter. He knew that her breasts and derriere were both jealous of her hand, because he was not holding them tightly. Lundin had been running around all day gathering everything that she needed for the trip. He could not understand the packing psyche of the female species. Not only did she have the suitcase and duffle bag, she shipped a box of things to her hotel.

He really did not like her traveling to the city of quiet mornings and incomparable nights by herself, but she had a professional duty. He was glad, though, that she had Margaret to bug, so that she would not bother him.

William watched her show her boarding pass and ID to airport security and proceed through the metal detectors. She waved at him, and then blew him a kiss which he caught and placed on his lips. He watched her go up a short escalator and through a set of metal detectors. Her backside looked more and more magical and alluring, as it danced into the crowd.

* * *

Back on Robertson, William caught a few moments and rested his eyes, before he grabbed his laptop and went to work:

Justice and Amir emerged into the Plaza’s lobby looking debonair, and rightly so. Amir had gone to the gift shop and billed expensive garments to the room. It was after noon, so they had had a late start, but they were ready.

The two men walked over to Fifth Avenue and stepped into heaven. All was perfect.

Clean sidewalks were loitered by New Yorkers selling faux jewelry and artificial Louis Vuitton handbags.