Going For Broke (15 page)

             
Thank God her feet had not grown with her.  She chose her favorite pair of Christian Louboutin pumps in baby-soft black leather with the trademark red sole.  She may look like a middle-aged Midwestern librarian, but her feet were all New York. 

             
She expertly applied her makeup in no time.  She had always hired Stephanie McCarthy, the most in-demand makeup artist to ‘do’ her face before any benefit or event where she knew she’d be photographed.  Victoria was an excellent student, taking copious mental notes about everything that Stephanie did, so she could easily recreate the look at home.  She watched Stephanie blend the three different eye shadows together, and the next day she applied them the exact same way.  Every trick and tool was hers for the taking. 

             
She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror.   Her mother had an appalling lack of full-length mirrors, then again, given her current state, maybe half a mirror was still too much.  She critiqued her outfit with an unforgiving eye.  If she had seen someone dressed like her on the streets of New York, she would have told them to go back to Nebraska.  Something was missing - besides the obvious answer of natural fibers.   She rummaged through her closet again and came out with a stunning Andrew Gn black coat with darling black patent leather toggles.  She slipped it on and prayed.

             
The coat fit, barely.  That’s if she never planned on buttoning it.  Its clean lines hid a multitude of sins along her waistline, and covered a good portion of her mother’s clothing.  Now she understood what the term Muffin Top meant.  It was beginning to look a bit more like Popover Top.  Thankfully, with the help of the shoes and the coat, she felt halfway human again.

             
She looked at the clock.  Dammit - it was already 10:35.   The train was due into the station at 10:50, and there was no way she was going to be able to walk uptown in those shoes in fifteen minutes.  She grabbed her beloved Birkin bag and walked out to the garage.

             
No cars, though along the far wall was her mother’s old red Schwinn Breeze.  It had a wicker basket on the front, and an extra-large red and white logo seat.  There was a fair amount of rust on the frame, it almost had the vintage vibe for which New York hipsters were paying top dollar.   The last time she rode a bike was with Trip on their Tour de France trip through France.  They’d log 30 miles a day cycling along the Dordogne and at night would gorge themselves on rich French food, vintage wines and sleep in the most resplendent chateaux.  There was always a van with water, medical supplies or just a ride if you needed one.  The bicycles were state-of-the-art, and custom-fitted.    She grabbed the old bike and hoisted her giant Birkin bag into the too-small basket and set off for the train.  The heels of her Louboutins hung over the pedals, scraping the ground with every rotation.  She swore like a sailor the entire way to the train.

             
             
             
             
             
             
###

             
When Mike first saw the flash ride out of the alley, he assumed that it was some local on their way to town.  Something about the posture of the rider had him think twice. 

             
He drove off to follow the bicyclist, and sure enough, there she was, riding along with a black coat flapping behind her like the Wicked Witch of the West.  She even had a little basket on the front of her bike.  Instead of a dog, it held her very expensive purse.

             
He followed her to the train station and watched her put the bike in the rack, not bothering to lock it.  Who would steal such a piece of shit in this town?   He let her go down the stairs to the train platform, and took a minute to look her over.

             
She had pulled herself together nicely.  He had only seen her in sweatpants the last few times they had met.  He appreciated the “downtown” V. Vernon, though there was an approachability to her in sweatpants that she most certainly did not display today on the train platform.  He could see that she had gained weight since they first met in New York.  She was ridiculously skinny then.  He never could understand why women wanted to look like a preying mantis: stick bodies and big heads.  He liked his women to look like women - soft, curvy and yielding.  She was definitely softer and curvier, but she didn’t look any more yielding than the day they met. 

             
The train came and he was able to hop on at the last minute.  He watched her look for a seat in the next car.  She rejected any seat that had someone sitting next to her.  She finally found a pair of empty seats, then passed them by too.  Could have been the large sweaty man sleeping in the seat behind her?  She eventually went up to the second level of the train, found a single seat, meticulously wiped it down with a tissue she extracted from her giant purse and sat down. 

             
Mike opened the door to her car and walked through.  He had spent so many summers going down to his father’s law offices on a train just like this, except for back then they were filled with smoke and men with hats and martinis.  Now they were filled with sailors from the Naval Station up north and teenagers with music blasting from their earphones. 

             
He passed the sweaty sleeping man Victoria had rejected and he had to admit that she had a point.  Wow - that smell was enough to clear your nasal passages!  He climbed the stairs to the second level opposite Victoria and chose a spot directly across from her.  He opened a paper and waited for her to notice him.

             
It took her a few stops, then he heard her quick intake of breath and gasp.  Bingo!  He could be invisible when he needed to be,  today was so much more fun being under her nose.  He looked over his paper at her and smiled. 

             
“Good morning, V. Vernon!” he cheerfully called.

             
“Really?  I can’t even ride the train in peace?” she asked.

             
“No, no.  Pretend I’m not here,” he said as he went back to his paper.

             
“Like that’s easy to do,” she said.  She didn’t have a paper or a book, so she just looked out the window. 

             
He held out a section of his paper.  “Sports?” he offered.

             
She gave him a frigid smile and a hot glare.  She turned back to the window.  They rode in silence for another stop.

             
“Let me ask you something,” she said, turning to him.  “Why aren’t you looking for Trip?”
             

             
“We are,” he answered and went back to his paper. 

             
“You haven’t heard anything,” she asked.

             
“Nope,” he kept reading.

             
“Then you’re not very good,” she said, turning her attention back out the window.

             
“
I’m
very good.  My job was to find you,” he said.

             
“You’re a regular bloodhound.  Are you sure they can spare you?” she asked. 

             
“There’s no place I’d rather be,” he gave her his best smile. 

             
“Well, you’re alone on that one.  I’d rather be anywhere but here,” she said.

             
“You could always go downstairs and sit with your friend down there,” Mike looked down at the sleeping lump on the first floor.

             
Victoria laughed.  Mike sensed a small victory, making her laugh. 

             
“Okay, you win,” she said.  She reached her hand out across to his side of the train.  “I’ll take that sports section.”

             
He ignored her and handed her the “Living” section instead.  “The comics are on the last page.”

             
“No doubt you’ve read them all.”

             
“The best part of the paper.  After the jumble, of course.”

             
“You are an intellectual powerhouse,” she laughed.

             
“It’s gotten me this far” he said and buried his nose back into the paper.

             
             
             
             
             
             
###

             
When they got off the train, Mike fell into step with Victoria and she didn’t do much to deter him. 

             
“Where are we going today?” he asked with false excitement.

             
“Oh, I’d rather surprise you.”

             
“The museum?  I love the Impressionists.”

             
“Maybe another day, Mr. Towner.”

             
“Call me Mike.  All my friends do.”

             
“Mr. Towner,” she insisted, “why don’t you take a guess. Let’s see what kind of detective you really are.”

             
“Special Agent.  Please!  Okay, let me guess.  You’re all dressed up, headed downtown, stern look on your face.  Hot date?  Maybe the guy likes the serious schoolteacher thing.  I can appreciate that.”  She scowled at him.  “No.  Hmmm.  Off to meet the hubby?  If so, good thing I’m here.”  She rolled her eyes and shook her head.  “One last guess.  We’re going to see your lawyer,” he had a hard time keeping up with her long strides.  She was walking like a woman on a mission. 

             
“
We’re
not going to see anyone,” she replied.    She kept walking as fast as she could.  She could hear him working hard to keep up with her.  Of course today was as hot as a day in August, and she was broiling in the black coat, though her vanity wouldn’t allow her to take it off.  She’d rather die of heatstroke.

             
As they approached her intended address, Victoria stopped, confused.  She knew she was going to get free legal aid, she assumed that they would be in law offices just like real lawyers.  The building they stood in front of looked like it used to house a Walgreens, and had yet to get a new tenant.  She double checked the paper on which she had written the address from the phone book.  Maybe they had moved. 

             
“Are we lost yet?” Mike asked.

             
“I thought we were going to 1173 West Jackson.  I must have been wrong,” she said, still staring at the paper in her hands. 

             
Mike picked the paper out of her hands.  “Legal Aid?  Well, I was right about the lawyers, then, wasn’t I?” he crowed.  “This looks about right.” He started for the door.

             
“This doesn’t look like a law office at all,” she said, not following him.  “It looks like a homeless shelter!”

             
“Not far from it,” Mike said as he walked in the door.

             
Victoria stood on the sidewalk because she didn’t want to give Mike the satisfaction of following him.  She stood there for a good minute, and then realized she didn’t have much choice.    She tentatively pushed the milky glass door open.  Inside, the place was buzzing.  The fluorescent lights hung low over about 30 desks, each topped with either an ancient computer screen or vintage typewriter.  Only about ten of the desks were staffed, each with a vagrant sitting in the chair beside each desk.  There was a waiting area with a large television mounted on the ceiling, with “Maury” blaring across the room.  None of the dozen or so people waiting were watching.  Mike had already grabbed a chair.