Nancy’s Theory of Style (43 page)

“You’re not in the position now to
adopt—”

“I’ll double your hourly fee. Triple it.
Whatever you want.”

Renee was quiet for a few seconds. “Your
check for the retainer was returned for lack of funds.”

“That can’t be. I had more than enough
in my personal account.”

“We submitted it twice,” she said. “Does
Todd have access to it?”

“Not that one. I’ll find out what
happened and get the money to you. But you’ve got to do this for me, please!”

“I’ll do it, but don’t tell anyone else
what you just told me and don’t give any interviews. Bye.”

Nancy
wasn’t concerned about the bounced
check because she knew exactly how much money she had. She went to her computer
and logged in at her bank’s site. She had a balance of thirty-nine dollars and
seventy-four cents. She stared at the screen, thinking that more zeroes would
appear beside the numbers or that she’d mistaken the decimal point.

Then she looked up the last transaction
that had cleared. It was an outrageous sum for the art gallery where she’d
broken the antique bowl when she last saw Anthony Harper.

She called the gallery and asked to
speak to the owner.

“Hello, Mrs. Carrington-Chambers, so
nice to hear from you.”

“Hello. I see you’ve cashed my check for
the bowl.”

“I’m sorry for the delay in billing you,
but since the bowl was for exhibit only, we had to request an insurance
evaluation from the owner, who’s in
Florence
.
Naturally, we included our commission in the total.”

“The amount was surprising.”

“It was a unique piece, as I recall
hearing our friend, Anthony Harper, tell you,” he said in an oily voice. “However,
if you would like to purchase an additional item, I would be happy to work out
a discount for you and Mr. Chambers. Perhaps he enjoys beautiful things like
Mr. Harper.”

Sun Tzu’s advice, like a muscle memory,
came to
Nancy
and so she feigned disorder and set out bait for her extortionist. “Oh, please,
don’t do that! Maybe you and I could meet and talk about buying something. I’ll
call you soon.”

“I think that’s best, Mrs.
Carrington-Chambers. Until then.”

Nancy
would figure out how to crush him
later.

Someone knocked on the apartment door.
Nancy
crept up to it and
wished she’d had one of those tacky peepholes installed. She listened and
another rap came at the door.

“Girl Carrington, open up.”

Nancy
pulled open the door and Miss Winkles
came in, looking around curiously.

Nancy
became aware of the changes that had
happened over the past two months. Eugenia’s drawings were propped on the
mantle and toys were scattered around. Her pirate books and favorite DVDs were
piled on the cocktail table. There were cup rings on surfaces and grimy little
fingerprints. A blue and white cape was draped over the shredded arm of the
sofa. A juice box was shoved between folders on the bookshelves.

“Quite a ruckus you’ve caused. This is a
nice apartment,” Miss Winkles said. “I thought it would be frilly and pink. I
saw the news last night. So Abigail is protected by ninjas. I always thought it
was MI-5 because of that affair she had with, you know. Well, she was a tramp
in those days…but we don’t have time to reminisce. Eugenia can stay with me
while you sort things out, or buy people off like you Carringtons usually do.”

“Eugenia’s gone. Birdie took her last
night. I don’t know where they are.”
Nancy
thought of the child waking up alone in hotel rooms, left at strangers’ homes,
dragged to late-night parties by her mother and strange men.

“Oh, no!” Miss Winkles put her hand to
her heart. “That poor child told me about life with that lousy excuse for a
mother.”

“I have to get her back before Birdie
ditches her again, or before anything happens to her, and then I’m going to try
to get legal custody.”

Miss Winkles put her hand on
Nancy
’s arm. “Good girl. Now
how are you going to find her?”

“I don’t know. Birdie could be anywhere.
She’s got a new boyfriend and she always carries her passport. Aunt Frilly will
call me if she hears anything.”

“What happened with Derek?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Make us a pot of tea and tell me,” Miss
Winkles said. “Don’t look at me that way,
Nancy
.
I know a thing or two and I might be able to help you. Otherwise, I might
occupy myself by calling back the newswoman who wants to know more about my
rich, irresponsible neighbor.”

Over a pot of bracing Scottish
Breakfast,
Nancy
told her story to Miss Winkles. She didn’t exclude her own misdeeds, her sleazy
liaison with Anthony, or her torrid affair with Derek.

“There were times when we were all
together and we were so happy: the pirate girl, my gay English assistant slash
lover, our feral kitten, and myself. At least I thought we were happy. Derek
slash Rick hates me. He was probably revolted every time he touched me.”

“It’s been my experience that men don’t
hate sex with pretty girls no matter how ridiculous the girls are.”

“That’s what you think. You didn’t hear
the way he talked to me. I met his ex-girlfriend by accident. She’s a tall,
busty, raven haired goddess, and here I am, flat and pale and puny.”

“There’s no accounting for taste and I
saw the way Derek, or Rick, looked at you,” Miss Winkles said.

“You don’t seem surprised that he’s not
English or gay.”

“His accent jumped around more than a
Jack Russell and his vocabulary was a hoot. I assumed you were paying him to
put on an accent and pretend to be gay.”

“Why in the world would I do that?”

“It’s exactly the sort of preposterous
pretention that I’d expect from someone who married Todd Chambers.”

“I am not pretentious. I have
standards.”

Miss Winkles laughed and said, “Like
dating Bailey Whiteside when you had a gorgeous, wonderful man in your bed?”

“Derek, Rick, whoever, lied to me and
spied on me and took advantage of me.”

“Your problem,
Nancy
, is that you are too picky. It’s the
imperfections that make life interesting, and that man was a keeper. As for
your cousin, you use your resources and I’ll use mine. Maybe we can find the
Birdie that flew away.”

It was only when Miss Winkles had gone
upstairs to her apartment that Nancy realized that the old woman had used her
first name. It seemed like a hopeful sign and
Nancy
started calling hotels, restaurants and
salons where Birdie might go. She called Sissy, got the names of some of
Birdie’s old friends, and called or left messages for them.

The hours passed and the room grew dark.
Nancy
wanted to
go out and do something, but she knew she had to stay where she was in case
Birdie came back. She wondered if Eugenia had had her afternoon nap, or been
given a snack, and a decent dinner.

More calls came, but she didn’t answer
any but Milagro’s.

“Nancy Fancypants, I hear your party was
a fiasco. Gigi said there was a wild fracas and ninjas, which is incredible. I
adore a party gone awry.”

“It wasn’t a delightmare. It was awful. Mrs.
Friendly told me I’m never going to work in this town again,”
Nancy
said. “Many other hellacious things
have occurred, however, I cannot elaborate at the moment.”

“If I have twins, I think I will name
them Fracas and Fiasco. Can’t Derek provide comfort in your time of need?”

“That’s another part of my misery, but I
must get off the phone since I’m expecting an urgent call.”

“I’m sorry, Nancy-pants,” Milagro said. “I
shall not take any more of your time, and I shall set every spare particle of
my gray matter into formulating a solution.”

“Thanks, Mil. I shall relate the whole
wretched tale anon.”

“Like Hamlet’s ghost, I bid you adieu,
adieu, remember me.”

Because
Nancy
didn’t want anyone on the street seeing
that she was home, she crept around her living room in the dim light from her
laptop screen. She went to her assistant’s writing table and opened the drawer.

Besides the pens, paperclips, and Froth
letterhead, she found the sketch pad that he used to take to the park. She
snuck into her bedroom, went into the closet, shut the door and turned on the
light.

Derek had told her that he’d never found
the right story to tell, but each page held drawings from the time they’d
shared. There were sketches of her at their favorite bistro, a view upward of
Nancy
’s legs and skirt as
she held onto the warehouse ledge, a series of drawings of Nancy and Eugenia… There
was a charming drawing of her asleep in bed. The pages were sometimes captioned
with phrases from her Theory of Style.

Nancy
closed the sketchbook and held it to
her chest, missing so much, feeling so alone. The painting of Birdie stared at
her. She didn’t want to see it ever again. She went to the back of the closet,
grabbed the frame angrily and turned it to face away. The edge of the painting
pulled back one of her long coats to reveal crayon scrawls on the wall.

She crouched down and pulled back the
coat. There was a drawing of three figures, ovals with stick arms and
three-fingered hands. The smallest had a scribble of brown hair. The middle one
had yellow hair. The biggest had short black hair. There was also small gray
blob with stripes and a tail.

Nancy
curled up atop the nest of blankets and
cried, choking back her sobs so she would be able to hear the phone. She stayed
awake most of the night, waiting and waiting and thinking about Eugenia alone
somewhere in the dark and she thought, I’ll come get you, baby, I promise.

Morning came and
Nancy
dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, staring
at her phone, hoping that it would ring. Then someone knocked on her door. She
ran to it so fast that she knocked over a chair, hoping that Miss Winkles had
some information. She flung the door open and saw Rick standing there.

He was dressed the way he had been in
the market, jeans and a t-shirt under a flannel shirt. His dark hair was
tousled and he hadn’t shaved.

“What do you want?”
Nancy
said. “Did you come here to gloat,
because there’s a lot to be gloaty about. My career is over, my reputation is
destroyed, and I told my attorney to give Todd whatever he wants.”

“I didn’t come about that. Miss Winkles
told me about Eugenia.”

“I’m sure you think I’m an awful aunt,
too, so…” Don’t cry, she told herself, don’t cry. “You’ve succeeded in making
me see what a fool I am, what a terrible wife I’ve been, so don’t let me keep
you from your next assignment of seducing another pathetic housewife and breaking
her… Go away.”

“I wasn’t hired to seduce you.” Rick
pulled a paper out of his pocket and held it to her. “Birdie and Viktor are
visiting his cousin and her husband.”

Nancy
’s heart skipped and she grabbed the
paper. There were two names and an address in Sea Cliff and an airline flight
number and date a week away. “She’s here! Are they taking this flight out?”

“No, it’s their return flight on
Thursday afternoon. They’re in St. Maarten for the week.”

Her elation was tempered by caution. “How
did you find out? Why are you telling me this?”

“I found out through the Gay Mafia, of
which my friend is a member. I’m telling you because Eugenia would be worse off
 
with her mother. Take care of her, Nancy
Fancy.”

He turned and walked away.

“Derek! Rick! Thank you.”

He stopped at the landing of the stairs,
and turned and looked up at her. “
Nancy
,
I never had to force myself to touch you. It’s all I wanted to do.”

Before she could say anything, he was
gone.

Her broken heart could wait.
Nancy
showered and
dressed. She peeked out her front door and when she saw it was clear, she ran
up the stairs to Miss Winkles’. Knocking, she said, “Miss Winkles, it’s me,
Nancy.”

Miss Winkles was dressed in her
customary suit, but wearing terry cloth slippers. “Come in.”

Finally
Nancy
got to see the mystery penthouse. It
was in a time warp with carnation pink walls and avocado green carpeting. Miss
Winkles led her to the living room, where tiers of lace and brocade frippery
hid the spectacular view.