She’d been in such a panic to rush me out of here. Now she said, “Pick it up.”
I obeyed her. I picked up Makenzie’s kilt.
“Smell it,” she whispered.
I held it up to my face, the handful of tartan wool. It smelled like it had been in a fire. It smelled of burning, but not leaves in a gutter. Worse than that. Way worse. It cut my eyes. It was awful, and I dropped it.
“Go right now,” the old woman said in my ear. And I went.
I couldn’t run. In these heels? But I made tracks, and she followed me, all the way up the poster hallway. We were in the glaring front entrance now, lots of us. She reached past me and got the front door open.
Then we were out in the shadowy hallway with the Chinese wallpaper and the shaded lights. Again, she reached past me to hit the elevator bell with a long finger. We were this close.
“Do you know who I am?” I felt her breath on my face.
“No,” I said. “Are you the old movie star’s maid?”
And at this exact second, the door to the back apartment opened, more than a crack. Standing there was the old movie star’s maid, in the faded apron and the flame-colored wig. She gestured to the old woman to come into the back apartment. Quick.
But the woman’s hand had closed over my wrist. I’d been afraid all along she’d do something like this—hold me back or something. Grab me. Where was the elevator? But she had something else to say, one last thing.
“I have lived a long time,” she said. “And I am very near the end. But I have never known anything like this before, never seen anything like this.”
The elevator opened, and it was brighter inside. She let go of me. “Run for your life,” she said, and I lunged into the elevator.
As the doors closed, I saw her move toward the back apartment and the maid standing there. Flossie. I saw Flossie reach for her and pull her inside. Two panicked old women. You could smell their fear. The door banged shut, and the locks turned.
The elevator doors closed. And my hand came out to touch a button. It pushed PENTHOUSE.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rolling Thunder
“COME STRAIGHT UP, one floor,” Tanya’s note had said, and so I did. It was either that or go wandering out there in the dark, finding my own way home. Alone again—the black, blank streets, the mole hole subway. Another Saturday without them. Anyway, I could feel Tanya from here, the tug of Tanya.
The old woman had said, “Run for your life.” And, really, wasn’t I? What kind of life did I have without them?
THE ELEVATOR DOOR opened, and I was already in the penthouse. It seemed to be one gigantic apartment—the whole top of the building. You could have a party just here in the entrance hall. You could invite half the Fabian’s people home and have a huge party.
But only one light was on, a naked bulb on a wall. No mirrors. Only faded squares where pictures had hung, or mirrors. The penthouse was vacant. I could feel the weight of room after room of emptiness where any little thing would echo and nobody lived.
I followed the thunder through a doorway with columns into another monster-sized room. The city lights flickered across the dust-curled floor through long windows. The penthouse seemed to be hanging in space—somewhere between the moon and New York City. I’d walked the whole length of the room, and I was standing in front of double doors now, with all that thunder just on the other side.
I waited with my hand touching the place where the doors met. I gave myself one last chance.
Then I pushed both doors open. It was a ballroom that looked onto a terrace and the night.
You couldn’t believe a room this big in a New York apartment. Like an airplane hangar with an acre of parquet floor. And nothing in it but a few rickety little chairs along the walls where there must have been hundreds once. Once upon a time.
No lights on at all. Three giant chandeliers hung down, but they’d been tied up in big cloth bags. The only light came through the
I obeyed her. I picked up Makenzie’s kilt.
“Smell it,” she whispered.
I held it up to my face, the handful of tartan wool. It smelled like it had been in a fire. It smelled of burning, but not leaves in a gutter. Worse than that. Way worse. It cut my eyes. It was awful, and I dropped it.
“Go right now,” the old woman said in my ear. And I went.
I couldn’t run. In these heels? But I made tracks, and she followed me, all the way up the poster hallway. We were in the glaring front entrance now, lots of us. She reached past me and got the front door open.
Then we were out in the shadowy hallway with the Chinese wallpaper and the shaded lights. Again, she reached past me to hit the elevator bell with a long finger. We were this close.
“Do you know who I am?” I felt her breath on my face.
“No,” I said. “Are you the old movie star’s maid?”
And at this exact second, the door to the back apartment opened, more than a crack. Standing there was the old movie star’s maid, in the faded apron and the flame-colored wig. She gestured to the old woman to come into the back apartment. Quick.
But the woman’s hand had closed over my wrist. I’d been afraid all along she’d do something like this—hold me back or something. Grab me. Where was the elevator? But she had something else to say, one last thing.
“I have lived a long time,” she said. “And I am very near the end. But I have never known anything like this before, never seen anything like this.”
The elevator opened, and it was brighter inside. She let go of me. “Run for your life,” she said, and I lunged into the elevator.
As the doors closed, I saw her move toward the back apartment and the maid standing there. Flossie. I saw Flossie reach for her and pull her inside. Two panicked old women. You could smell their fear. The door banged shut, and the locks turned.
The elevator doors closed. And my hand came out to touch a button. It pushed PENTHOUSE.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rolling Thunder
“COME STRAIGHT UP, one floor,” Tanya’s note had said, and so I did. It was either that or go wandering out there in the dark, finding my own way home. Alone again—the black, blank streets, the mole hole subway. Another Saturday without them. Anyway, I could feel Tanya from here, the tug of Tanya.
The old woman had said, “Run for your life.” And, really, wasn’t I? What kind of life did I have without them?
THE ELEVATOR DOOR opened, and I was already in the penthouse. It seemed to be one gigantic apartment—the whole top of the building. You could have a party just here in the entrance hall. You could invite half the Fabian’s people home and have a huge party.
But only one light was on, a naked bulb on a wall. No mirrors. Only faded squares where pictures had hung, or mirrors. The penthouse was vacant. I could feel the weight of room after room of emptiness where any little thing would echo and nobody lived.
I followed the thunder through a doorway with columns into another monster-sized room. The city lights flickered across the dust-curled floor through long windows. The penthouse seemed to be hanging in space—somewhere between the moon and New York City. I’d walked the whole length of the room, and I was standing in front of double doors now, with all that thunder just on the other side.
I waited with my hand touching the place where the doors met. I gave myself one last chance.
Then I pushed both doors open. It was a ballroom that looked onto a terrace and the night.
You couldn’t believe a room this big in a New York apartment. Like an airplane hangar with an acre of parquet floor. And nothing in it but a few rickety little chairs along the walls where there must have been hundreds once. Once upon a time.
No lights on at all. Three giant chandeliers hung down, but they’d been tied up in big cloth bags. The only light came through the
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