One Fifth Avenue - Candace Bushnell [105]
“Thank God,” Annalisa said. She knew Paul would have been irritated if Sam had had to go into his office, but on the other hand, if he had, she simply wouldn’t have told Paul. Exactly what did he have in that office, anyway, besides his fish? What if something went wrong while they were away? They had enough trouble in the building as it was—the in-the-wall air-conditioning units hadn’t been approved, so Paul had had the French doors cut in half and air-conditioning units installed in the bottom portion, which was what he should have done in the first place—but Mindy Gooch still refused to talk to her. When Annalisa approached her in the lobby, Mindy would say coldly, “Enjoying the apartment, I hope,” and walk away. Even the doormen, who had been friendly at first, had become somewhat aloof. Paul suspected the doormen didn’t deliver their packages on time, and although she said he was being paranoid, he wasn’t all wrong. There had been a contretemps over a beaded Chanel jacket worth thousands of dollars that the messenger service had sworn was delivered; it was finally discovered two days later, having been left in Schiffer Diamond’s apartment by mistake. True, the bag hadn’t been labeled properly, but even so, it did make Annalisa wonder if the other residents disliked them. Now she was worried about Paul’s computers. What if something happened while they were halfway around the world in China?
“Sam?” she said. “Can I trust you? If I gave you my keys—to keep, just while we’re away, in case something happens—could you keep it a secret? Not tell your mother or anyone? Unless there was a real emergency. My husband’s a little paranoid…”
“I get it,” Sam said. “I’ll guard the keys with my life.”
And moments later, he was headed downstairs with the keys to the magnificent apartment hanging heavy in the pocket of his jeans.
Later, at the house in Windsor Pines, Beetelle sat at the vanity in her powder room and rubbed the last of the La Mer cream into her face. Cem, she knew, would be hiding in the entertainment center, where he now spent all his time. Ever since the foreclosure notice had come from the bank two weeks ago, Cem had taken to spending the night on the couch, falling asleep in front of the giant flat-screen TV. Lola, Beetelle imagined, was in her room, trying to digest the reality of the situation.
But how could Lola understand when Beetelle could barely comprehend it herself?
Beetelle dug out the last of the precious cream with her manicured fingernail. When had the trouble started? Six months ago? She’d known Cem wasn’t happy at his company. He’d never said so specifically—Cem kept his thoughts to himself—and although she’d sensed something was wrong, she’d ignored her feelings, convincing herself instead that, thanks to the cell-phone alert system Cem had invented, they were about to become very rich. But three months ago, Cem had come home unexpectedly early from work. “Are you sick?” she’d asked. “I quit,” he’d said. He had his pride, he said. A man could take only so much. “So much of what?” she cried. “Disrespect.” Eventually, she got it out of him: He’d quit because his boss was claiming Cem’s invention as his own. The boss claimed the company owned the patent, and Cem wouldn’t get a penny. Beetelle and Cem had hired a patent lawyer from Atlanta who came highly recommended, but he was no use at all. The lawyer, Beetelle discovered, was oily—and not only because his skin glistened against his navy blue pin-striped suit and red tie. Their one-hour meeting had cost them seven hundred dollars. Then the lawyer supposedly looked over the case. “There’s no evidence that Cem developed this on his own,” he said over the phone. “But he did. I saw him working on it,” Beetelle protested. “How?” the lawyer asked. “On his computer.” “I’m afraid that doesn’t give us much of a case, Mrs. Fabrikant. You can proceed, if you’d like, but it’ll cost you hundreds of thousands of dollars to take this to court. And you’ll probably lose.” Hanging up the phone, Beetelle suspected Cem had been lying to her all along.